


The Twelve Days Of Christmas

by FawkesyLady (Tarma)



Series: Songs of Joy and Peace [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Christmas, Comedy, Female!lucius, Genderswap, HP: EWE, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-18 18:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 78,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarma/pseuds/FawkesyLady
Summary: The next song in this impromptu concert features the newly minted couple Professor Snape and Professor Granger. Severus has a plan to secure Hermione’s affection, but will it work? Meanwhile Lucius Malfoy manages to get himself into quite the sticky wicket with a none too gentle push from his friend.This is a continuation of Trahe Me Post Te, so if you are new to this story, please backtrack to the first part of the series.





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this has been interesting! This is the continuation of a story that I began writing three months ago for a Christmas Fic challenge. The narrative has taken on a life of its own and insists on persisting well beyond the original parameters, so I have divided it into more manageable pieces. This was part of a gift for Coromandel. *Wraps it up sloppily and stuffs it into a box, looking innocent!* 
> 
> I highly recommend that you start at the beginning as this will make little sense without Trahe Me Post Te and Intermezzo.
> 
> Thanks go to [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked), who has suffered through reams of rewrites. Also thanks to readers like you!

The morning after the Yule Ball was hectic as students scrambled to pack, rushing down to Hogsmeade before the Hogwarts Express before it left the station without them. Hermione had looked forwards to seeing Severus at breakfast, but had only the briefest glimpse of him in the hustle as a catastrophe interrupted almost as soon as the Head of Slytherin reclined in his chair. 

 

It presented itself in the form of Argus Filch running into the Great Hall, screaming, “Locusts! Locusts in the dungeons!” 

 

Someone had loosed a plague of grasshoppers in the Slytherin common room and it had taken him and Filch hours to root out the nasty creatures. It was a colony kept to feed one of the student’s pet snakes, and the species had been bred to provide better sustenance and cold resistance to reptiles. They were crossbred with chipfurzles and if they have been allowed to infest the castle it would have been impossible to root them out completely. The problem was that some clever student had decided to place a gemino curse on the damned things, which made it that much harder to catch them - the minute you touched one it started to multiply. It was a nightmare prank, worthy of the Marauders. 

 

Hermione and the other Professors helped get the rest of the students to the station while Severus and Filch stayed back. Later, when Hermione ventured down to see if there was anything she might assist with, she found that Snape had already gone off somewhere. 

 

By the time dinner came around, Hermione still had not seen Severus anywhere. Dinner conversation turned to the review of where the various members of staff would be staying over the holidays, and it occurred to Hermione that she had no idea of what Severus’ plans might be.  Why should he stay here at the castle? Just because she imagined he had little interest in society didn’t mean that he’d sit in his office, waiting for the students to return, like a doll packed in mothballs. 

 

As the second-to-last straggler bid Hermione a good evening, she was feeling like a fool. She decided that she was reading too much into those kisses shared beneath the mistletoe and at her door last night. A blush heated her face as she thought about the mistletoe earrings she now wore. Was she too desperate?

 

That night she walked down to Hogsmeade with Professor McGonagall and a few of the others, and they walked around town, singing carols. She had her favorites, “Gloucestershire Wassail” was among them, but nothing held a candle to the Carol of Beauty. The little group always saved it for last, when they had returned to the Hogsmeade Town Square, where the acoustics were the best, right outside of the Three Broomsticks. The lights of the surrounding buildings were snuffed so that the audience could admire a display of magical lights that danced across the night sky in time with the music. 

 

_ “ _ _ Quelle est cette odeur agréable, _

_ bergers, qui ravit tous nos sens? _

_ S'exhale t'il rien de semblable _

_ au milieu des fleurs du printemps? _

_ Quelle est cette odeur agréable _

_ bergers, qui ravit tous nos sens?” _

 

A new voice joined in on the next voice, one that was deep, resonant, its masculine tones warm in the night. Hermione craned her neck about, looking for its source. It seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. 

 

_ “Praise we the Lord, who made all beauty _ __  
_ For all our senses to enjoy. _ __  
_ Give we our humble thanks and duty, _ __  
_ That simple pleasures never cloy. _ __  
  


A voice whispered, “There, do you see him? Up there!” Hermione squinted up where people were pointing at a patch of the sky that was dark and starless, hovering fifty feet above. She thought that she could make out the movement of what looked like arms, in time with the music. This must be the source of the spectacular display. Her heart thrilled with wonder and traitorous hope. Could it be him?    
  
_ “Praise Him who makes our life a pleasure, _ __  
_ Sending us things which glad our eyes.” _ __  
  


On the last verse, Hermione felt a warmth that started on her back, just between her shoulderblades. There was something familiar about the magic, and so she continued on singing, looking up at what she fancied might be the conductor. 

 

_ “Thank Him who gives us welcome leisure, _ _  
_ _ That in our heart sweet thoughts may rise.” _

 

It was getting harder to see, because the ambient light around her was brightening, slowly like the dawn. Her head was tingling too. Perhaps it was a warming charm, it did feel lovely, whispering about her. 

  
_ “Praise Him who makes our life a pleasure, _ _  
_ _ Sending us things which glad our eyes.” _

 

Casting about, she looked for the light source, thinking to dim it a trifle, but was startled to find no one was looking upwards any longer, rather all were looking directly at her.  

 

A little girl whispered, “Mummy, is that an angel? She’s glowing.” Hermione couldn’t see who the girl was speaking of, but she had a sinking feeling as she noticed Minerva McGonagall watching her, dabbing at her eyes and smiling at her as she sang along.    
  


The group hummed the refrain before launching into the final verse, a repeat of the second by mutual agreement. The unknown baritone was getting nearer. It had a lovely tone, but wasn’t quite perfect, starting a bit late, taking more breaths than the rest of them, as though its owner were exerting himself as he sang. 

 

Looking down, Hermione finally realised where the light was coming from as she could see that her skin had taken on a subtle glow, and her robes were shimmering with a silvery white light, like that of a patronus. 

 

_ “Praise we the Lord, who made all beauty _ _  
_ _ For all our senses to enjoy.” _

 

The dark shape from the sky descended slowly, and the light pouring off of her illuminated the figure of Severus Snape, his robes billowing gently as he touched down lightly.  It was his voice that joined for this song, and she had eyes only for him. 

__  
_ “Give we our humble thanks and duty, _ _  
_ __ That simple pleasures never cloy.”

 

Severus walked over, and stood looking down at her, heedless of the surrounding crowd. 

__  
_ Praise we the Lord, who made all beauty _ _  
_ __ For all our senses to enjoy.”

 

Hermione drank in the beauty of Severus’ voice, and the lines of the dear man’s face. She couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes, but when the last note died to silence in the square he held out his hand, and she took it, pleased when he brushed to his lips across her knuckles in silent greeting. Somewhere there was the flash of a camera, and the spell was broken. Around them the crowd broke into applause, many voices calling approval. 

 

Soon they found themselves walking back to the castle, bypassing the obligatory round of drinks at the Three Broomsticks. None of their colleagues seemed to be offended when Hermione bid them goodbye. 

 

When they were finally alone on the path back, Severus spoke. “You are beautiful tonight, Hermione.” 

 

“And you glad my eyes, Severus. I am so happy that you came.” 

 

As if by mutual agreement, their feet stopped on the path, and Severus looked down at her, as though he afraid that she were an illusion that would disappear should he look away. Hermione stepped closer to him and took his hand, tugging gently downward. The kiss they shared on the path, entwined there in the dark, would be one of the happy memories that Hermione could use reliably to cast a patronus from that day on. 

 

Alone, without care for discovery or public opinion they took their time in the kiss, tenderly exploring one another’s mouths, each losing track of where one started and the other began. Reluctantly, after some minutes they parted, and continued back to the castle arm in arm.   
  


* * *

 

The next morning Professors McGonagall and Rolle bent their heads together over The Daily Prophet’s Sunday edition, featuring a picture of Hermione and Severus standing together, and Severus kissing her hand. She was radiant with the white light that hovered about her, swelling at the back as though she had the wings of an angel, and a crown of illusory roses about her head. “Winter Romance for War Heroes,” read the caption. 

 

Both ladies smiled, but after a moment, an expression of consternation crossed McGonagall’s face. “Oh no.” 

 

Connie’s concerned, “Minerva?” followed the Headmistress, who picked up the hem of her robes and ran out of the Great Hall. A shouted, “Howlers! Hordes of them,” was the explanation that drifted back over the air. Christmas Eve was going to be eventful. The students who were stuck here over the Holiday all leapt up and followed the Headmistress out into the courtyard. 

 

When Connie broke out into the open air of the courtyard, flashbacks of battles gone by passed over her mind. Owls were dropping a multitude of screaming red envelopes overhead, who in turn were being shot down one by one by the Headmistress whose white hair escaped its neat bun under the effort. Around her, Connie encouraged the students to join in, “Shoot the red ones, darlings! They’re full of nastiness, entirely unsuitable for the day.” 

 

Drawn by the commotion Hermione tumbled out of the side door. The scene was bewildering in the extreme, the flashes of light and the screaming abuse took her a moment to process. 

 

“That murderer had better … “ *Sizzle*

 

“Nothing more than a slag. First Harry Potter, then Victor Krum!” *Boff*

 

“...skinny ankled witch would do better with my nephew…” *BAM*

 

“First you pardon Snape and then you award him the Order of Merlin, but worse you’re still letting the man who killed Albus Dumbledore teach at Hogwarts! Someone needs to talk sense into Hermione Granger right now before it’s too...” *Poof* 

 

The last one had come quite close to Hermione, and she hesitated before sending a shredding hex at it. Little bits of confetti that floated down, covering her in red and white snow. She let out a huff of irritation and walked over to the Headmistress who was standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at the skies. “I never liked howlers, Professor Granger. Terrible things. Parents who wish to express their displeasure with their children or my staff from now on will have to result to written word or floo by arrangement. I am going to set the castle wards so that all howlers from here on out are dropped in the lake.” 

 

Hermione answered with a weak smile and turned around, looking to see if Professor Snape was there. Not seeing him, she responded, “The Daily Prophet snapped a picture of us last night, did it?” 

 

Connie was standing nearby and unfurled the copy she had tucked under her wing. “Right in one, darling.” 

 

Owls were coming in at a slower rate now, and the outer ranks of students were having a grand time, easily picking off the stragglers. The Headmistress called, “Do have a care, Clark. The poor owl didn’t do anything wrong!” 

 

Meanwhile, Hermione’s eyes were scanning the article, and her lips tugged up in a smile. “Well. I think that’s the nicest thing the Prophet’s ever printed about me.” She modulated her voice so that it would have been at home on a newcast, “Hermione Granger, OM1, an experienced enchantress of wizards, has set her sights on one of the most dangerous and powerful wizards still at large. Since his role in the war and his subsequent exoneration, Headmaster Snape has been highly sought after and was named Witch Weekly’s most eligible bachelor for the social seasons from 1998-2001 when he withdrew his attendance from most societal functions. Was this the very scenario he sought to escape? Has his luck run out at last, his heart in real danger at the hands of Professor Granger?”  

 

Connie tittered, “Oh, but he was rather sought after for a while. Witches were falling all over themselves to get at the tall, mysterious wizard. Hunted like a fox, poor man.” 

 

Frowning, Hermione continued onwards, “Oh, this is infamous, that Skeeter woman keeps going. Listen to this,” She looked up to make sure McGonagall was still listening, “What did she learn at Durmstrang when she was away all of those years? Is she fit as a teacher after studying at a school renowned for its tolerance of the Dark Arts? For further speculation on Granger’s studies and role in the aftermath of the war, see page 5.” She shook the newspaper, as though that might shake sense into the reporters, “What puerile drivel!”  

 

Minerva was watching the doors behind the irritated witch with an expression of bemusement, so her comment was distracted, “He only ever ran towards danger, didn’t he.” 

 

Hermione laughed, before going on, one finger pointing at the text, “I am a collector of the hearts of wizards, a man-eater. I must have forgotten where I keep my collection of them, them pickling in jars.” She shook her head. “They have all sorts of angles on me. Heartless harpy. Well, that or a hideous harridan, fated to live alone in my tower of high-handed morals for the rest of my days. Depends on the direction of the prevalent wind. And how many H’s they can get in.”  

 

“Oh, darling. Your reputation is a tool for you to use, not the other way around.” Connie was watching her carefully. Or more accurately, the space right behind Hermione. 

 

Hermione looked up at Minerva and Connie, a blush blooming on her face like Christmas roses. “He is rather handsome, isn’t he?” 

 

Severus Snape’s deep voice spoke out of the thin air next to Hermione, “I’d say…” but before it could complete that statement, it was interrupted by a flash of red light and a *BANG* followed by the sound of a body hitting against the courtyard wall behind her. 

 

Lightning quick in response, Hermione had whipped out her wand and cast a forceful  _ Expelliarmus _ . “Show yourself!” She caught the blackthorne wand neatly as she directed a stern glare at the wall. 

 

Wheezing, the doubled over figure of Severus Snape melted into view, holding his ribs and leaning against the stone wall for support. 

 

Uttering a little moan, Hermione hurried over. “I’m sorry… so sorry.” 

 

Behind her a small crowd was forming, drawn by the sound of the raucous laughter rolling off of the Headmistress and Professor Rolle. They too had hurried over, but backed off discreetly when it was obvious that no advanced healing was immediately necessary. 

 

“You are the only...” Severus winced as he drew breath, “..witch who has..” he coughed, and shook his head, blinking, “... taken me unawares twice.” 

 

Hermione held out her hand to him, her eyes dancing with amusement. “I am a very wicked enchantress who collects the hearts of wizards for my own nefarious purposes. I only hunt the best wizards.” She grasped his hand with a soulful widening of her eyes, “Well, I do have to catch them somehow.” The effect was playful without tipping over to coquettish, clearly that being Connie’s territory. 

 

Severus accepted her hand, allowing her to lever him upright. Stepping into the tug, he surprised her by engulfing her in one cloaked arm. He held up one finger, indicating that he needed a moment to catch his breath. “Last time, you knocked me out cold.” He shook his head, blinking. 

 

Eyes wide, Hermione wondered if she was finally going to feel his ire. Maybe this wasn’t so funny after all. “I… I did have help. It was all three of us, you know. We apologised. Don’t you remember? You saved our lives that night.” She looked ready to take off on an even longer tangent.

 

A low growl from Severus cut her off. “You were saying I’m handsome. Shall I write the Prophet and confirm that you are not in full control of your mental faculties? Or would you rather I make an appointment to have your eyes checked at St Mungo’s?” 

 

Hermione stepped back, feeling rather certain that he was recovered sufficiently to be trusted not to collapse. His wit was recovering, and she felt altogether less charitable. She narrowed her eyes at him, “For one of the most powerful and dangerous  _ wandless  _ wizards in all of England, you’re remarkably mouthy.” She ran her fingers up and down the smooth length of dark wood, arching a single eyebrow at him. 

 

Making a show of dusting off his robes, with a definite wince when he reached to the right, he answered, “What I was about to say before you attacked me…” he smoothed out his sleeves, and took a step towards Hermione.

 

Frowning, Hermione stood her ground, irritated that she was having to tilt her head upwards to maintain eye contact. 

 

“...was that it was the glow cast off of your glorious visage that put me in the best light possible.” He swallowed, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. “Is it difficult to believe that you bring out the best in me?” 

 

Hermione was entranced, her fingers still lightly running along the length of Severus’ wand. She stopped breathing as he stepped a little closer still and leaned forwards to purr very quietly, “You shouldn’t fondle a wizard’s wand like that in front of a crowd of people. I am doing my best to be a gentleman.” 

 

With a squeak, Hermione stopped what she was doing and turned her head to find that yes indeed they did have an audience. As she turned her head back to Severus, her face flaming with embarrassment, she opened her mouth to retort and was stopped as Severus swooped in and claimed a kiss from her. It was tender enough to distract her, and she slackened her grip, permitting Severus to reclaim his wand.

 

The display was met with croons of delight cut with cat-calls from the crowd, and when the pair broke apart, they were greeted with a smattering of applause. 

 

The Headmistress fixed the pair of Professors with an expression that made Hermione feel as though she were a naughty student. “Alright, back inside, all of you. Professor Snape and Professor Granger, I am afraid that your mail will experience a delay as we are going to have to examine it for cursed parchment and other trickery.” 

 

Hermione looked up to find Severus looking rather guilty. She slipped her hand into his before replying, “We’re grateful for your concern, Headmistress. Constant vigilance is a good policy.” She tugged on his hand, willing him to shake off the gloom, and she didn’t miss his flinch at the movement. “Is Madam Pomfrey still around? I need to get Professor Snape patched up and I suspect he’d rather she did it. My healing magic is rather basic.”   
  


* * *

 

Severus walked Hermione down to the apparition point near the school gates. He was sending her off to her parents, and from there she had plans to travel to the Burrow tomorrow for Christmas Day. He had that glazed, fogged feeling one gets after being dosed with pain potions. 

 

“So, what should we call this?” She was relentless. 

 

His response was delayed. “I don’t suppose you mean a pleasant stroll with a disappointing ending?” He didn’t have to even look, the reproach wafting off of her was palpable. Damn, his shields were thin today. 

 

“Well, this is all too new to fully label, Hermione.” He swallowed, shoving down his fear that she’d come back from her family and friends having been brought to her senses. 

 

“The Daily Prophet has forced us into the open.” She squeezed his arm, and he had to shorten his steps further to match hers as she looked up at him, “I wanted to keep this between us until we had more time to explore.” 

 

He chuckled ruefully, “When has the world ever let anyone be?” He looked down at her mass of chestnut curls and took in a deep breath, memorising her scent. Realising that he had not given her anything to work with, he went on, “What are you comfortable with?” 

 

Hermione considered, rolling words over her tongue, “Severus Snape is my … boyfriend seems so adolescent. Same for sweetheart.” She looked away, shy, “Lover is too explicit and it is too soon.” 

 

Snape snorted, “I’d not be comfortable with that. Especially to your parents.” He shuddered, “Your Dad’s likely to place a price on my head.” 

 

The expression on Hermione’s face froze. “Um, yeah. Dad and Mum.” She chewed on her lip and fell uncharacteristically silent.

 

“You could just tell them we just started seeing each other. It is the truth. We’ve had what.. three dates?” 

 

Moving into more concrete realms, she listed them, “Yule Ball counts I think, and caroling last night.” She squinted, and for a moment he was afraid that she’d figured Veronica out. 

 

Rescuing himself, he supplied, “That first day we went shopping. That was a fairly innocuous date, shouldn’t make your parents worry.” 

 

Hermione laughed, “You do recall that you ended up spending the night in jail and the next fortnight not speaking to me, don’t you?” 

 

A smirk crossed his lips, “They don’t know that. I trust you will know what to say. Being an Experienced Enchantress and thief of the hearts of wizards, you must do this at least once a month.”  

 

He received a firm elbow to his ribs for that, and stars of pain crowded his vision. “Nnngh... “ He held his breath, waiting for waves of pain to dissipate before he took another breath. “Do you..” He was huffing shallowly now, and looked through his hair to find Hermione looking rather sorry and worried. It was adorable. What was he going to say, oh.. Right… “Do you always handle your victims so roughly? ” 

 

She reached out and brushed his hair out of his face. “Only when they take every opportunity to push me off balance.”  

 

Bracing his hands on his knees, he focused on her and his breathing. After another moment he was able to straighten up again. “It is fortunate that I’m nearly impossible to kill.” He tilted his head. 

 

Hermione walked next to him now, holding her beaded bag in her hands. “Mm. Well, you are one of the most powerful and dangerous wizards around. You  _ might  _ be able to survive me.” She looked at him with a tremulous smile. “No one else has.” 

 

Stopping, Severus considered the petite powerhouse of a witch next to him, and held out a hand in invitation. “I am also the luckiest wizard in Britain.” He lifted the hand to his lips, holding her eyes, willing her to understand how he felt. “And any wizard who thinks to usurp my position as Hermione Granger’s latest conquest is going to have to fight for it.” 

 

Hermione’s laugh wasn’t an elegant one, nothing like Connie’s. She tried to suppress it, for one, and that resulted in a delicate version of a snort. “Merlin’s Beard. I’d rather not see it come to that, Severus.” 

 

His hand spasmed around hers, “I do have access to some interesting poisons, and I’d been experimenting in mental disciplines. Ministry sanctioned, of course…”    
  


The obvious alarm that appeared on Hermione’s face spoke volumes. “No! I am perfectly capable of repelling anyone I find offensive, Severus. There is no need for such tactics.” 

 

He winked at her, “Yes, love.”  She made a face, showing that she understood that he was winding her up again. It was so easy. He couldn’t help himself. 

 

“So, I’m telling my parents and anyone else who asks that we’re seeing each other, and we just started.” Her expression and mood shifted to one of growing confidence. “I can do that.” She looked at him speculatively, “Are you certain you don’t want me to ask my parents if you could come along? They don’t bite, you know. They are dentists, not attack dogs.” 

 

Severus waved a hand. “I don’t think it appropriate for you to invite me along with you when you get so little time with your family as it is, Hermione. I’d be a distraction. No, you enjoy yourself. I’ll be just fine here, licking my wounds and entertaining Minerva.”

 

They crossed the rest of the grounds, finding themselves all too soon at the Gates. 

 

Hermione took over the proceedings, fussing over him. “You get plenty of rest, and don’t let me hear that you’ve been skipping meals again.” Her hands flitted over his cloak, picking off cat hairs here, and a long curly one there. 

 

Severus stood, absorbing every detail, as though she were leaving to travel to Tibet and wouldn’t be back for months. Inwardly he berated himself. It was only two days, not even that. He could handle that, couldn’t he? A pinch of pain in his chest prompted him to capture Hermione’s hands in his own,  kissing each in turn. 

 

“Be well, Hermione. Have a Happy Christmas.” He tried to be reassuring, chasing the nagging worries from his mind. She would be back. 

 

She gripped his cloak and tugged. Why did she have to do that so often? He bent down, feeling foolish and was rewarded with an ardent kiss. When she pulled back she whispered, “I will miss you.” 

With that she stepped away, patted her pockets to be sure she had everything, and double checked her beaded bag. After a long look at him, she broke into a blinding smile. He was stunned under the force of that joy, it was almost as good as a kiss. He nearly missed it when she said, “Happy Christmas, Severus.” As fast as a mediwitch ripping off a bandage, she spun on the spot and was gone. 

 

Instincts screaming for him to run after her, he tore himself away, making the journey back to the castle on foot. 

 


	2. In the Key of F Major

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to add a special thanks to [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked), who has generously donated her time and talent to help beta.

Hermione leaned against the counter in her parent’s kitchen, soaking in the feeling of home. The warm honeyed oak tones of the cabinets and corals that her Mum chose for the tiles touched her heart. Dad marched in, still bundled up from the cold and set a paper bag on the counter. Hermione breathed in the mouth-watering smell of take-away Chinese, feeling her stomach rumble in response. The Grangers had a strict ‘nobody cooks for Christmas’ policy - of course, that excluded cookies - but her Mum and Dad wanted to enjoy the rare time that they had together so take-away was their family tradition.

 

“Hullo again, pumpkin.” Hugo started to strip off his muffler and head back out to the hall, putting a burst of speed on so his wife didn’t catch him tracking slush onto her floor.

 

As Hermione set out plates on the table, she felt her mother’s presence coming over beside her to place a pot of tea out. A tender touch on her back, the lightest caress made her relax all the more.

 

Jeanne shot Hugo a reproachful look as he came into the room but waved him down when he opened his mouth to apologise. Before long all three Grangers were sat about the table. Her parents brought her up to date on the state of the practice and their thoughts about retirement. Her Mum was all for it, but her Dad seemed reluctant to give up the work.

 

When the plates were clean and they were all comfortably full, Jeanne turned to Hermione and asked, “Is everything alright, Hermione? You seem leagues away.”

 

Taking a breath, Hermione jumped in the deep end. “I’ve met someone, Mum. We just started seeing one another.”

 

Her father shot Jeanne a meaningful look. “You owe me dinner.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Jeanne said, “He bet it was a boy, I was thinking another career change.” Her mother smiled, “I don’t mind being wrong. So, tell us about him. Who is he?”

 

Hermione was stymied, “Well, he’s a Professor at Hogwarts.”

 

Jeanne frowned, already working at the problem. Her father leaned forwards, setting his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers. “Do we know this mysterious wizard?”

 

Feeling for all the world like she was fourteen again, she squirmed in her chair. “Probably. I have mentioned him before.”

 

A glimmer of understanding appeared in Jeanne’s eyes. “Just how long has he taught at your school?”

 

Hermione’s response was delayed and very quiet.

 

“What was that, dear? I couldn’t hear you, your voice was so soft and sweet.” Her Dad was smirking at her as he waited for a response. He was enjoying this interrogation!

 

Letting out a huff, Hermione cleared her throat. “Twenty five years, Dad. He’s been teaching at the school for twenty five years.”

 

There was a choking noise from her father, and a telling silence from her mother.

 

Anxiety loosened her lips, and she disgorged more truth than was strictly necessary. “Well, he was Headmaster for a time, and then after the war he was on Sabbatical for about two years because of legal trouble and recovering from having his throat ripped open by a giant possessed snake, so if you need an exact answer, twenty two.”

 

Jeanne’s voice was flat. “Professor Snape.”

 

Hugo’s expression morphed from one of amused tormentor to that of a very concerned father. “Really, now?”

 

When Hermione didn’t deny it, Jeanne clapped her hand on the side of her face in disbelief and slid it down as she continued to speak. “You’re dating,” she looked up at the ceiling, as though a script might be projected there, and mimicking Hermione’s best vexed voice, “That odious, unforgiving, black hearted, biased, unscrupulous…”

 

Groaning, Hermione cut her off. “Remember what I said after Professor Slughorn came on board?”

 

Her Dad filled that in, employing a worse imitation of Hermione at her most indignant, “At least Professor Snape was a good teacher. Professor Slughorn is only in it for the free labour and access to house elves.”

 

It was Jeanne’s turn to interrupt, “Yes, yes. That’s all well and good. So, tell us why we shouldn’t cart you off to Springfield to have your head examined? He’s always gone out of his way to make your life difficult.”

 

Hugo interjected, “And he is rather old for you, isn’t he? Waaaait. Did he dose you with something?” He waggled his eyebrows, showing that he was at least partly joking.

 

Jeanne reached out to grip her husband’s shoulder. “Hush. Give her a chance.”

 

Hermione would have given much to disappear at that moment. Or to take a time turner and rewind the last five minutes. Licking her lips, she weakly asked, “Would you happen to have something stronger than tea? This is going to be a long story.”  

 

* * *

 

By the end of the evening they collectively drank their way through two bottles of wine, and her parents had taken on a stance of reluctant, cautious optimism. Surprisingly enough, it was her mother who was having a harder time adjusting her thinking from Professor Snape the Death Eater, Spy and strict Potions Master to Severus Snape, the man.

 

Lips loosened with the wine, and fueled by the desire to make her parents understand what she saw in Severus, Hermione allowed herself to burble on until the hour grew late indeed. They found the story of her getting the drop on the man rather humorous, and it was at that point that the tension between parents and only daughter finally seemed to relax a fraction. She did leave the naughty wand bit out, thankfully.

 

Her father at least seemed to understand. “Hermione, if you’ve finally found a wizard who could match wits with you, and is brilliant enough to recognise how special you are, I for one would be interested to at least meet the fellow.”  

 

Jeanne’s expression was still reserved. “How does he feel about you being…” She looked at Hugo furtively, “...you know. Not from a magical family?”

 

A mischievous grin lit up on Hermione’s face. “It didn’t seem to bother him when they printed a picture of us together on the front page of the  _Daily Prophet_.” She jumped up and went to her beaded bag and after some clumsy rooting about she fished out a copy and handed it over for her parents to peruse.

 

Her mother didn’t like that one bit. “You mean the entire wizarding world knew about this relationship before your own family? Hermione!”

 

“It wasn’t even a real date. He just walked me home.” Realising how defensive that sounded, she added a sheepish, “Sorry, mum.” Hermione stood over her parents shoulders as they bent their heads together, bouncing on her toes in her anxiety to see what her mother thought.

 

Her father’s expression softened, “Oh, pumpkin. He’s smitten, that’s for certain. Are you sure that you know what you are getting into?”

 

Her mother was looking at the photo with a hand over her mouth, her features taut with anxiety, waiting for her daughter’s answer.

 

Biting her lip, Hermione searched for the words. “I doubt that either of us truly know what the future holds, but I am ready to take the risk. This isn’t easy for him, either. After all,” she pointed to the tiny print beneath the moving photo of the two of them engrossed in one another, “I’m an evil Enchantress who collects the hearts of unsuspecting wizards, hungry for power and influence.” She snorted, “Good thing he doesn’t believe the rubbish they print about me in the paper.” After a moment she added, “Although I doubt that would put him off, honestly.”

 

Gently teasing, Hugo went on, “So when were you going to show me your collection of hearts? I’d find that interesting you know. Come to think of it, get me some teeth too. You could bring me some from regular wizards, werewolves, and vampire-wizards.  Are those real?”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Oh, Dad. Honestly.”

 

“Or even better, what about Time Travel?” Hugo had regained his enthusiasm for the new generation of  _Dr Who_ and already made plans to watch the Christmas Special, although he still vociferously objected to the introduction of kissing into the show. Hermione privately agreed with her Dad. The Doctor was not supposed to get involved romantically with his companions. It was just…  _wrong_.

 

Jeanne stood up, leaving the paper on the sofa and engulfed her daughter, who was floundering on composing an answer to her father, into a fierce hug. “I’m worried that you’re in too deep, darling.” She pointed at the picture. “Don’t rush in, or be too hasty.”

 

“I’m not, Mum. Really, we are both rational people.” She pulled back to look at her mother, startled to see tears in those eyes. “I promise.”

 

Letting her daughter go, Jeanne pulled out a handkerchief and mopped her eyes. Covertly, her Dad sent her a tight smile and then announced, “Well, I think it’s time for presents.”

 

Galvanised, Hermione’s mother straightened. “Yes, I can’t believe how late it is already.” She bustled away, calling, “And pudding, mustn’t forget that!”

 

Lumbering up from the sofa, Hermione’s Dad hugged her. “You know, we are so proud of you, Hermione. You’ve grown into a brilliant woman, and any man should be so lucky to get your notice. ‘Most powerful dark wizard at large’ or no, if he hurts you so help me, there will be hell to pay.”

 

Hermione giggled into his wool jumper. “Oh, Dad. I love you too.” Dads have their own special magic, and she reveled in the feeling of safety and belonging within the protective circle of his arms.

 

* * *

 

As Hermione lay awake upstairs in her own bedroom it was with a shaky sense of relief. She always had been rubbish at concealing her feelings and particularly with her parents she was incapable of deceit. It was much better to have this relationship of theirs out in the open, she felt like she had passed a test for which there was no study guide. As usual, she still wondered what she could have done better.

 

Niggling doubts started to surface as she tossed in her old bed. Why  _was_ he interested in her? She had horrible hair and could never be mistaken for a great beauty. Could he handle her insufferable know-it-all habits? What if he decided that he was going to withdraw from society once more? He was never known to be particularly social. Would he be able to weather her friendship with Harry, and with the Weasleys? Where could this relationship be going? Was he thinking about her too?

 

It was well past midnight when the whirring cogs in her mind finally released her to sleep.

 

* * *

 

When Hermione woke the next morning, it was to find a huge eagle-owl pecking at her window. Blinking away sleep, she tiptoed over and winced as the pane squealed in protest as it opened under her hand for the first time in years. The owl perched comfortably on her sill, and she bent to relieve it of a parcel wrapped in ink-black paper. The owl pecked at her wild hair repeatedly, and she glared up at it, having to give up due to the distraction. “See here, you. If you want to be relieved of your burden, you’d better stop that.”

 

The owl’s eyelids closed part-way and he emitted a low hoot, as though he were apologising.

 

Shaking her head,  she went to her bag to retrieve a handful of treats for it. In spite of its size, it was gentle as it nipped her finger in thanks, crunching the treats down one at a time. Cautiously, he lifted his leg so she could see what she was doing. Suddenly, the knot pulled free and with a hoot he sprung away from the window, rounding the corner of the house and out of sight.

 

After closing the window once more against the bitterly cold air, she turned to examine her winnings. A smile bloomed over her face and she sunk onto the bed, turning the present about, looking for further confirmation. “Black, Severus? Where-ever did you find black wrapping paper?” The gift was tied with a single piece of two-ply cord, a verdant green entwined with silver. Taking out her wand, she tapped the parcel, “ _Specialis revelio_.” Nothing happened. There was a tag that read, ‘To Hermione, Happy Christmas.’

 

Emboldened, she ran fingers over the black paper and she was pleased to discover that it wasn’t outright unrelieved black. She tilted the box in the light, and thought that she could make out the outlines of something flowery in ridges and valleys. Next, she gave the box a gentle shake, considering its weight. It was fairly light, and something inside shifted. Carefully she undid the fastening and the paper opened up. The inner surface of the paper was a surprise, printed in ornate Christmas roses, embossed with gold leaf that glowed in the growing light of morning.

 

Setting the wrapping aside, Hermione lifted open the lid to the plain white box, and after a moment’s rummaging she produced a leather-bound journal and a tin of Partridge’s Spiced Pear Tea. She stared at the tin, and then the knut dropped. Unable to help herself she started to giggle, falling back on the bed. She was trying to keep it down, lest she wake her parents, but that only seemed to make it funnier. Wiping her eyes on her sleeve she started to focus on her breathing. In. Out. Snort. Again. In. Out. In.  

 

It occurred to her that she hadn’t seen a note of any kind. Was Severus really going to leave room for doubt as to the sender? She scavenged the few thin sheets of paper left in the box, looking for any sign of the cramped writing that once had adorned her essays in red ink. Not finding it, her eyes lit on the journal. It was a deep green, almost black. Truthfully it looked poisonous, but Hermione paid no heed, holding it up to her nose to breathe in the scent of leather and new parchment.

 

That brought back memories of the Amortentia she first encountered with Professor Slughorn so long ago. As she opened the book she felt it flare warmly under her fingers.

 

_25 December, 2006._

 

_Hermione,_

 

_No need to worry, this isn’t a Horcrux. I had the idea last night, and thought that it would prove useful to have a subtle method of communicating when we are apart. This journal has a Gemino-twin, much like the badges Draco manufactured by the dozen for the Triwizard tournament. We can review security measures at a later date, I wanted to get this off to you._

 

_I hope you enjoy the tea. A brilliant witch once told me that some of the best gifts are ones that can be consumed in under an hour. She is almost never wrong, so I trust her advice._

 

_Things are quiet here at the castle without you. Only another handful of Howlers have filed in, you would think that people have something better to do on Christmas of all things. Minerva’s started a pool going on the number that arrive over the next week. I hope they are leaving you be. I think the Giant Squid wants us to find somewhere else to deposit them. The waters of the lake are very dark with its inky protestation._

 

_Happiest of Christmases,_

_Severus._

 

Hermione summoned a quill and ink from her bag and glanced at the time. She had a lot to do, but she wanted - no she  _needed -_ to reach out to Severus.

 

_Severus,_

 

_Happy Christmas! Thank you so much for the lovely gifts. I can see you were listening weeks ago, but why should I be surprised that you are an excellent student?_

 

_The tea made me laugh, as did your wrapping job. Cleverly executed, sir._

 

_I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before, but you are absolutely brilliant. This journal is a wonderful idea. Sometimes I feel that I communicate more precisely with written language so that appeals to me. Was it difficult magic with so many pages?_

 

_Come to think on it, perhaps a variant on the undetectable extension charm could be applied to books such as this, so we can add pages without forcing it to exceed the bindings’ capacity. I’ll talk with Professor Flitwick, shall I?_

 

_I regret that cracked ribs were among the gifts I left you. Are they healing well? Madam Pomfrey always seems to know what to do._

 

_My parents are interested in meeting you sometime. I think you’d find them tolerable company. Dad’s happy for me, for us. Expect the usual threats to life and limb. Mum is a bundle of nerves who will not settle until she has measured your character herself, and that will take more than one sitting I imagine. It has taken me what, 15 years to get this far? And yet, I have so much more to learn about you._

 

_Therefore, I propose that if you are agreeable that I conduct a lengthy study of your singular person. I expect it to occupy me for the foreseeable future. I hope you are ready for it._

 

_Warmly,_

_Hermione_

  
As soon as she set down the quill, the paper under her fingers heated once more as the  _Gemino_ renewed itself. A glance at the time made her yelp in alarm, and she gathered her bag and dashed off for a shower. She was expected for Christmas by ten at the Weasleys.


	3. The First Day of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of Molly-bashing here. Apologies in advance.
> 
> Did I mention that [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) is a lovely person for helping me beta this Chapter? Oh right. Now I am. Thanks, [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked)!

Family gatherings at the Weasleys were exhausting. The building that replaced the original Burrow was smaller, but Arthur’s particular talent with dimensional charms always made it work. They weren’t quite as tight as fish in a sardine tin, but for those used to the airy halls of Hogwarts, it did tend to felt rather close. Most of the family was home for the holiday, and arranged themselves about the house and every hand pitching in cheerfully enough as need made itself known.

 

George was more visible this year. Humor was his oxygen, but each such breath was painful without his twin. In truth, it was Teddy Lupin and the other children of the family that lent him the strength to get through the holidays. Fred would never forgive him if he became dull, so George slowly developed a new repertoire in his one-man act.

 

Ginny commented once that George had made it his new mission in life to fill the hole left by Uncle Bilius’ passing, and from what Hermione knew of the legend he was having a rather good go at it. Currently George was pulling candy canes out of his nose for the amusement of the littlest ones.

 

That scene was a stark contrast to what Molly had on her mind. Hermione found herself trapped in the kitchen when she had stepped in to refresh her mug of tea, Molly sliding into the doorway, also preventing any of her brood from slipping in and interfering. She had seen the Daily Prophet from the day before, it seemed.

 

In a hushed voice, as though she were talking about an embarrassing rash, Molly oozed contrived concern and affection for Hermione. “You know that we are here for you, dear, no matter the hour or the day? For advice, or a bit of company? We’d be more than happy to have you around every weekend and holiday. I worry that you are spending too much time at Hogwarts. You need to be among people your own age, not old relics.”

 

Bristling, Hermione crossed her arms and didn’t bother to whisper her response. “I am perfectly content, Mrs Weasley. The other teachers at Hogwarts are good company, you know. My own parents are around for advice and have not failed me yet.” She grimaced, the best she could do under the circumstances, and added on a whim, “They send their regards.”

 

Glossing over the distraction, Molly remained undeterred. “That’s kind of them, my dear.” She forged onwards, “Have you set a date for your trip to Romania? Charlie’s eager to see you.”

 

Charlie had not been able to leave his work over the holidays. In a letter he wrote to the family, he explained that he felt obliged to cover during the holiday so that his colleagues who had wives and children could be together. It was an open secret that he didn’t want to come home and face another embarrassing round of Mum knows Best.  

 

Ever since Hermione returned to England without a Quidditch player, or indeed any other wizard in tow, Mrs Weasley campaigned for her to take a vacation to Romania to tour the Dragon Reserves where Charlie worked. Everyone knew Charlie was gay, but his mother seemed set on tucking Hermione into the family tree somewhere, and she was quite determined. Hermione mused that she was rather like one of those ornaments you can buy on holiday, brilliant in isolation, but somehow never quite finding its place on the tree. Unless, of course, it was used for counterweight at the back.  

 

A hand patting the side of her face broke her from her reverie, and she found Molly Weasley blessedly quiet, searching Hermione’s face for some desired reaction. Molly appeared to believe that there was some hope for her agenda from Hermione’s silence, and she smiled expectantly. Hermione set about correcting those assumptions at once.

 

“Mrs Weasley, I thank you for your interest in my welfare. Please, be assured that I am perfectly content as I am.” She rather felt like Eliza Bennett confronting Lady Catherine DeBourgh.

 

Mrs Weasley might have seen the glint of amusement in Hermione’s eye, and it goaded her into harsh frankness, “I warn you, Hermione, while you are clever you have many years yet before you could be considered wise. Listen to me. You can’t save him. Turn aside. You are meant for my Charlie. It is fated, I feel it in my gut.” Mrs Weasley hadn’t let go of Hermione’s face, cradling her cheek in one hand.

 

A bitter laugh escaped Hermione. She leaned into Molly’s personal space, glaring back in irritation, matching tone for tone, refusing to be intimidated. “Fated are we? If that is the case, there is nothing for you to fear and this uncomfortable conversation is pointless.”

 

“Merlin’s beard, you even sound like him.” She gripped Hermione’s face tighter, thumb on her cheek, fingers below her jaw. “You are determined, then, to see this farce with Severus Snape through?  

 

Hermione turned away, stepping out of arm’s reach, forcefully breaking contact. She felt Molly’s nails bite her skin, but she refused to stay still under that woman’s thumb. “I am merely _determined_ to act in such a way that I believe will make me happy. And I might point out, Madam, that this happiness does not rely on your good opinion or approval.”

 

Molly screeched, “But what of his past? His associates? The terrible things that he’s done!”

 

Fury fueled Hermione’s response, “Severus has been found blameless, pardoned on all charges, as you well know. He’s paid dearly for his mistakes and I think it ridiculous that some people can’t look past that.”

 

“What’s to work past? Severus Snape hasn’t changed a jot! Now he’s taking up with one of his ex-students, one twenty years his junior! You’re practically a child. I think it is shameful!” Molly punched a finger in the air at Hermione, and a glass on the nearby counter behind them shattered. The two witches continued their face off, neither paying the breakage any mind.

 

Hermione’s hands were at her sides, fisted and white knuckled with the effort of containing her fury. Her hair was expanding, going up like the ruff on an angry wolf. “I am a Professor at Hogwarts and in that I consider us  _equals_.”

 

Molly was panting, so caught up in her tirade that she had entirely forgotten that it was Christmas and that she now had nearly the entire family in residence. “Is this some sick infatuation on your part? Some kink? Or is it him? Has he dosed you with anything? When did this start?”

 

Shock robbed Hermione of speech and her mouth went slack. Silently, she shook her head, searching for a thread of sanity in the impassioned matron’s diatribe.

 

Molly’s face was twisted with loathing as she perceived that she had made a hit, and she went on jeering, “Did you fantasise about your teacher when you were a girl, and now you can’t leave well enough alone? Now that my Ron’s moved on? You couldn’t possibly want Snape, no one would! You’re sick.”

 

Tears sprung to Hermione’s eyes. This woman had been like a mother to her. Accusations of using Severus, worse, of having involved him in highly reprehensible relations a decade ago was beyond her tolerance. Her voice shook with the strain of maintaining precarious control,  “You have insulted me and my honor in every possible manner. Get out of my way.” Hermione’s hair crackled with barely contained magic. It was all she could do not to hex Mrs Weasley.

 

No one moved. Absolute silence settled with the exception of the wails of a crying James that filtered in from the windows, taken outside by Harry when the shouting commenced.

 

Arthur appeared at Molly’s side and put an arm around her shoulders, shifting her to the side so that Hermione could pass. “Mollykins, I think it is time for Eggnog and stories.” He cast a nervous glance over Molly’s shoulder, an unspoken plea for Hermione to hurry.

 

Ginny gestured wildly to Hermione and tilted her head upstairs. Grateful, Hermione allowed herself to be guided, nearly blinded by her angry tears. Finally finding the washroom, Hermione splashed cold water on her face as Ginny gently rubbed her back.

 

“Your mother...” Hermione couldn’t get out the rest of what she meant to say, but Ginny seemed to understand.

 

“Is acting like an absolute hag, Hermione. I’m so sorry.” She paused, “You know, it was rather shocking to find out you had a new boyfriend.” She put a finger under Hermione’s chin and tilted it up, using a washcloth to smooth away the angry blotches that had broken out under the stress. “Is that why the sudden interest in lingerie?” Ginny’s tone was off-hand but her eyes danced. “Gracious.”

 

Self control taxed to breaking point, Hermione was shocked to hear herself giggle. Ginny had just named Severus Snape her  _boyfriend_. The past two days of explaining and defending a relationship that wasn’t even a week old had drained her, but hearing Ginny say ‘boyfriend’ brought the joy and thrill of the newness of it all back into sharp focus. Yes.  _This_ was what she wanted.

 

A dear, wry voice broke in from the hallway. Ron had followed them upstairs. “Much less that it was bloody Snape.” He snorted, “And to have it splashed across the Daily Prophet, well. I didn’t believe a word of it.” He leaned against the doorframe, his posture relaxed, arms crossed over his chest. He was interested, curious, and there wasn’t a bit of malice in his voice as he took the measure of his ex-girlfriend’s distress. “Blimey, I haven’t seen you get into a shouting match like that since Rita Skeeter.” In a smaller voice, he added, “Well. It must be true. You really do like Snape.”

 

Ginny threw Ron a reproachful look. “Didn’t Mum give her enough trouble over this?”

 

Hermione waved Ginny down. “It is alright. I’ll expect Harry to follow suit. Let’s get this over with. Everybody take a shot at Hermione, just you see what happens.”

 

Ronald Weasley’s instincts for tactics were uncanny, but he was never known for actual  _tact_. “But, surely you’ve always hated Snape, like the rest of us?”

 

Hermione responded automatically, correcting Ron, “Professor Snape.” Having regrouped in the cool room, Hermione blew out a long, cleansing breath before facing her Ex, “That’s the best you can come up with Ron? Is that the full measure of your objection to this new, whatever it is? That you think I’ve never liked him? That I couldn’t possibly care for Severus Snape?”

 

Ronald took on the expression he used to get when a teacher called on him to answer a question that should have been easy. Hermione was not inclined to help him here, and was interested to hear what he’d say when he finally found his voice. “Well, we all know he’s an arrogant heartless prick, but that wouldn’t matter if you really wanted him. Merlin knows I wouldn’t be stupid enough to stand between Hermione Granger and her happiness.”

 

Hands shaking, Hermione hugged herself as she composed her thoughts. Ginny growled, “ _Ronald._ ”

 

He was eying Hermione’s hair as he continued, perhaps using it as a cue for when he was saying too much as he sure wasn’t paying any attention to his sister. “I very much doubt that the whole of the Queen’s men would be able to stop Headmaster Snape, should he decide he wanted to be with you.” Ron smiled ruefully, “You would be the making of him, Hermione. Does he deserve such a second chance?”

 

“You know full well my thoughts on Severus’ worth for they are written out in full detail in the court proceedings which are a matter of public record. He is honorable and deserves much better than any of us ever gave him credit for at school. There is no misplaced pride in the man, and for all that everyone seems so bent on tearing him down, I don’t wonder that he keeps his nose high above it all.”  

 

Ginny frowned, “But can he see you as an equal, ‘Mione? I warrant on intellect and magical power, you are well matched, but does he still see that eager Gryffindor student, raising her hand at every opportunity?”

 

Ron added quickly, before Hermione could respond, “I know you, ‘Mione. You couldn’t be happy unless you respect him and he respects you too. Without that, you’re doomed for heartache.”

 

A deep voice broke in from the hallway. “I assure you that I hold Professor Granger in great esteem on a professional level.” The pale visage of Severus Snape came into the light, and he smiled sadly at her, “On a personal level, I believe that Hermione is the best and sweetest of all women, and is faultless in spite of all of her faults.” Hermione thought that she could see a glimpse of the lost, dear boy that she had seen in the pensieve years ago in those dark eyes. She felt as though if she continued to look she’d fall in and be lost forever. A moment more, and she decided that she wouldn’t mind one jot.

 

Hermione whispered, “Severus,” and that was his only warning as she flew at him, pulling him into a fierce hug.

 

For a moment, Severus stiffened, unused to the familiarity of being touched let alone hugged like this. He placed an arm around her and looking for a target found one in Ron who was watching the pair of them with wide eyes.  Severus’ face hardened into the more familiar semblance of irritation, and he turned his head to direct his voice such that it carried down the stair. “Direct your concerns to me if you must,  _but leave Hermione be._ She does not deserve such indelicate treatment, and any perceived blame is entirely creditable to my own account.” He paused, adding, “I already owe my life and liberty to Professor Granger.” After a moment he added, “And Mr. Potter.”

 

A sniffle was all of the reply that Hermione could muster, and she buried her face into his shoulder, shaking her head in silent denial.

 

Severus went on, “Look what you Weasleys have done: You’ve rendered Hermione Granger speechless. And on Christmas of all days.”

 

Ginny had been looking on with delight dancing in her eyes. “Detention in the Forbidden Forest for us again, Headmaster?”

 

Snape snapped, “Severus. Don’t ever use that appellation in my hearing again or I will hex you into the next millennium.” He relaxed a trifle when he noticed the smile on Ginny’s face. It was a barely tactful acknowledgement of all that happened under his brief tenure as Headmaster.

 

Continuing smoothly, Ginny said, “ _Severus_ , give me half an hour with my Mother. And I expect you to stay for dinner, sir”

 

The tall wizard hadn’t bothered to change before coming, as he  arrived in some haste. He hadn’t even removed his travelling cloak before mounting the stair. Hermione’s soft, “Oh, look!” drew their attention to the paper sprig of holly Hermione transfigured weeks prior to get him into the spirit of the season, still pinned where had left it. “You kept it.” She looked up at him, rewarding him with a winsome smile, ignoring their audience.

 

Finally showing some discomfort, he flashed a glare of warning at Ron before clearing his throat to answer. “Naturally.” A corner of his mouth tugged up, pleased, in spite of his haughty tone.

 

Hermione should have known something was up as Ron ducked out of the doorway, calling over his shoulder. “Dad’s broken the mulled wine out. See you downstairs.”

 

George had crept in while they were distracted, and now the jokester was looking at the ceiling with an expression of manic glee before he glanced back at the couple, still standing in a close embrace. “Merry Christmas, Professors!” Not waiting for their reply he disappeared from sight.

 

It wasn’t until Hermione tried to move that she discovered what the one-eared wonder had done. She growled, “George Weasley, I am going to jinx you into next week! Get back here!” Her feet were firmly affixed in place. Directly overhead was a bunch of the Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes’ genuine enchanted mistletoe. The kind that they hadn’t used at school for this exact reason.

 

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, Severus’ eyebrows flew up in surprise. In a theatrical voice he called, “Well then. I guess we’re doomed to stand here together for the rest of Christmas, Hermione. I am rather put out.” Lazily, he flicked his wand and the door swung shut with a click, the latch falling into place.

 

Ginny’s muffled voice could be heard from the hallway, “Did Snape just shut the door on us?”

 

Harry’s voice was right at the door, “Yeah. Never could pull one over on old Snape.” The doorknob twisted in place, but the door did not open. “What’s that spell Hermione always used again? You know, the one on doors?”

 

Ginny’s response was exasperated. “You know he can probably hear you.”  Severus’ eye started to twitch, and he continued to hold his wand uneasily pointed towards the door. “Come away, Harry. They’ll come out when they are ready.”

 

Hermione pointed her own wand and whispered, “ _Colloportus. Muffliato._ ” A line of golden light traced around the edge of the doorframe, confirming that magic was now keeping it shut. Whatever Harry might have said was lost too. She sighed, “That’s better.”

 

Freed of the audience neither of them craved, Severus gathered Hermione into a closer embrace, wrapping both arms about her, enshrouding her in black wool. “Infinitely.” He scoffed. “Who’s he calling old? I can take Harry Potter on any day of the week, including Sunday.”   

 

Not wanting to let go, Hermione stood quietly, eyes closed, cheek resting on Severus’ chest. At length she asked, “How did you know to come?”

 

A soft snort preceded the answer, “For all of his japery, George Weasley was intelligent enough to retrieve me. Our current entrapment is both his price and his present to us, I suspect.” After a pause he added, “I am truly sorry, Hermione.”

 

“No.”

 

Severus attempted to pull away so he could get a better look at her, but the witch’s arms tightened like Devil’s Snare. “What?”

 

“I mean it. No, you have no reason to apologise. Molly Weasley, for all of her good intentions, is a spiteful, manipulative…” Hermione huffed, unable to get the word past her lips.

 

“Cunt?”

 

Hermione gasped, pulling back at last. “And you expect to kiss me with that mouth?” In spite of the horror on her lips, her eyes sparkled with amusement.

 

Chuckling, Severus pointed upwards at the mistletoe sparkling over their heads. “Obviously.”


	4. And a Partridge in a Pear Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) spent many painstaking hours pouring over this particular chapter, straightening out some of the tangled yarns that I wove a bit too tight. I am humbled by her gift of time and talent.

Hermione came downstairs before Severus and rejoined Ginny in the kitchen. Molly Weasley was fully occupied with entertaining James, and that gave the two the chance to talk.

 

Ginny was working on making rolls for dinner, using her wand to direct the pastry dough and butter-loaded brush to work in harmony, creating one perfect knot after the next. "Well, I can't say I saw that coming, Hermione. Then again, when I stopped to think about it, it wasn't so strange after all."

 

Leaning against the stone wall, praying for patience, Hermione made a rather vague hum in response. George ghosted through, and it was only by the grace of the cocktail that he handed Hermione that she did not hex him.

 

With a glance back at Hermione, Ginny asked, "How serious are you two?"

 

"I really wish we’d had more time before all of this," Hermione gestured with the drink, sending the red liquid swirling in the glass carelessly, "...happened. We have barely begun, Ginny. The pressure is..." Hermione looked at Ginny, willing her to understand her agony, but not wanting to acknowledge it aloud.

 

Ginny finished her sentence for her, "It is unfair, isn't it? On the one hand, you know we all love you dearly, so your happiness is very important to us. On the other, too much attention never helps when things are so new. We want answers to questions you haven’t even had time to consider."

 

Nodding, Hermione was relieved to be so well understood. She was about to raise the glass to her lips for a cautious sip when her progress was arrested by the sight of Severus descending the steps. She wasn’t used to the sight of him with his hair pulled back; it was very different. Earlier, she had taken the opportunity to give Severus his Christmas gift in that very little time they’d spent alone. She had been working on the idea and its execution for weeks, and wanted to see his reaction when he opened it.  

 

The small silver box was tied with burgundy ribbon, which Severus undid without comment. Couched in a supple leather pouch was a miniature snake that raised its head in greeting, making it easier to pick up. It was fashioned out of smooth silver links, and was meant for use as a hair tie, latching onto its own tail and holding firmly on command. It would wrap around anything as large as an average wrist, for there was a trace of occamy quicksilver in the alloy that the jeweler recommended when she approached Badgerbanks with the design. Hermione had also placed an additional localised runic ward on it to prevent hair from escaping, knowing that should any drop into a potion it could cause catastrophic failure. She need not have fretted, for after reading the penned explanation and examining the fine runes on the snake’s smooth belly,  Severus pulled his hair back and slipped it into place, rewarding her with thanks and another kiss.  

 

Hermione, in an inspired moment, transferred the transfigured holly pin to the white collar of Severus’ work-spattered shirt. She noticed that he had made an attempt to clean up his stained fingers, for he had come directly from the lab. He stood with his over-robes folded over one arm, waiting as Bill and Fleur tumbled into the main hall along with Victoire.

 

The little girl positively bubbled over with excitement, prancing about with happy exclamations and giving hugs to all in reach, including her own Dad and Mum. When the little girl saw Severus on the stair, she sang up to him, "Happy Christmas, Mr Wizard." Before he could react, she hugged him about the knees and was gone, the interaction taking approximately the same amount of time it takes for a snowflake to melt. His dark eyes followed her as she skipped off to find Teddy, the worry lines on his face relaxing.

 

Hermione discovered that she had forgotten to breathe.

 

Bill Weasley turned back from hanging his coat and regarded Severus with a knowing smirk, reaching over to pull Severus’ robes away from him. Fleur stepped up to the plate, "Oh, Professor Snape, it is so nice to see you here, such a lovely surprise! It is much better out of that dank dungeon for Christmas, no?" She leaned forward on tiptoe and air-kissed each of the Potion Master’s cheeks.

 

“Quite.” Severus twitched a half smile in return, and Hermione was rather pleased to see that he was more susceptible to Victoire than Fleur.

 

"But what brings you here to us?" Fleur glanced about and spotted Hermione watching them from her spot in the kitchen. "Ah, so it is true! How wonderful, to find love right under your nose, is it not?"

 

Severus' reply was unexpectedly gracious, "I have yet to wrap my mind around this rare miracle, Mrs Weasley. I plan to apply myself to extensive study of her wonders." He ignored the reference to his nose.

 

Fleur scolded Severus playfully, "Don’t tease me. Ah, Mrs Weasley! That's my Mother-in-Law, as well you know. You must call me Fleur."

 

"And you must call me Severus. As you have pointed out, I am nowhere near the school or its dungeons today."

 

Tsking, Fleur reached out and brushed some unseen bit of detritus from Severus' arm. "But what is this? You are not here to work, are you? Where is your holiday best?"

 

In the kitchen, Hermione pushed away from the wall, her eyes narrowing. She was grinding her teeth. Ginny appeared at her shoulder, resting her chin on it to watch too. "Hermione Granger, you are jealous!"

 

Turning away from the scene, Hermione dislodged Ginny and set the drink on the counter, untouched. "Hecate's hamstring. What the hell’s wrong with me?"

 

Ripples of laughter flowed off of Ginny, "Forget any presents you meant to give me, this moment is one that I will treasure all year long." She leaned in to whisper, "Where is Professor Snape, and what have you done to him?"

 

At that moment, Molly drifted in with James on her hip and Victoire in tow. She wore a sort of vague, pleasant expression. “I’ll just get James and Victoire some juice, shall I?”

 

Hermione stiffened at the woman’s approach and remained silent. Ginny turned to retrieve the desired items, “Thank you, Grandmum. Dinner will be ready shortly so don’t fill James up.”

 

Victoire broke away from Molly and ran over to give Hermione a hug, piping, “Happy Christmas, Miss ‘Mione!” She turned and treated Auntie Ginny to a similar greeting.

 

The tension in the kitchen mounted as Molly looked on with a frown, but James waved a little fist and said, “Ooce.” Distracted back to the little ones, Molly crooned, “A sweet girl, our Victoire. Such lovely manners.” As Ginny passed her the juice and cups, Molly turned and her eyes slid right past Hermione as though she weren’t even there.

 

After Molly was out of earshot, Hermione hissed at Ginny, “You  _Confunded_ your Mother?”  

 

Ginny shot her a furtive, vaguely guilty look. “It was Dad’s idea.”

 

“It is brilliant, but we could have just left, you know. I hate the idea of causing any more problems, and on Christmas of all days.” She moved over to the counter and reclaimed the glass she had yet to taste. Hermione was about to sample it when the glass turned ice cold in her hand. The drink therein solidified.  

 

Severus appeared behind Hermione and gently pulled the tumbler from her grasp. "Did you know this drink was dosed with lip-loosening solution?" The Potions master swiveled on the spot, eyes raking the crowd for George Weasley, the muscles of his jaw working.

 

Possessed of a second sense for discovery, George had but only moments ago muttered, "Oh shite," and volunteered to get firewood in from the shed, taking himself out of sight and range.

 

Hermione fidgeted, "I should know better by now than to drink anything George hands me. Thanks for that." She crinkled an embarrassed smile at him. “My hero.”

 

A droll voice interrupted them, “Very nice. Now if you two heroes could see your way to helping, I need someone to serve drinks,” Ginny pointed at Severus, “and someone to serve out the soup.” The latter chore was assigned to Hermione. Harry drifted in and volunteered to help finish off some of the last minute preparation. He had a flare for garnishes. As was typical, Ron was nowhere to be found until dinner was served.

 

* * *

 

Arthur led his family in a series of toasts at the start of the Christmas Feast. Molly lifted her glass with a benign smile, and Hermione couldn’t help but notice that she continued to be surrounded by the children of the family.  A fussy James dangled on the matriarch's knee while Victoire and Teddy giggled and whispered their way through the meal.

 

Hermione learned that Percy Weasley was away on honeymoon with his new wife, touring the Alps. When asked by Fleur, Arthur mentioned that Charlie had written to express his regrets, but promised to come by on New Year’s Day, and wanted to introduce them to  _Mihai_. The emphasis that he placed on the name, paired with the mixture of amusement and mild discomfort in Arthur’s demeanour at the admission spoke volumes.

 

Andromeda Tonks was a revelation. Hermione found herself sitting next to her, both of them as far from Molly Weasley as one could get and still be at the same table.

 

With some gentle prompting, Hermione and Severus unravelled the tale of the past few days to Andromeda. Harry and Ron were listening intensely, Hermione noticed. Mrs Tonks shared stories of her years dating her late husband, Ted, and dealing with the reactions of her friends and acquaintances.

 

When she learned of how their romance was outed to the wizarding world at large, Mrs Tonks exclaimed, “You’ve only been an item for three days and already you’re on the front page of the Daily Prophet? That’s horrible.”

 

Hermione rolled a shoulder in response, “I should be used to it. At least my parents have been understanding and supportive for the most part.” She looked over at Harry, Ginny, and Ron, “And I am sure I can count on my friends.”

 

“Cor, ‘Mione. Give us a chance.” Ron’s wife wasn’t able to attend unfortunately; she usually mellowed the redhead out.  He was rather twitchy, and having Snape both in close proximity and involved with his ex girlfriend wasn’t something with which he could be comfortable on short notice. I would take him another five years to get used to the idea, maybe seven.  

 

Severus remained rather quiet throughout dinner, and Hermione was wondering what was going on with him. He didn’t seem to be upset, so she kept her peace. After a time, the reason became clear. Severus was laying in wait, like a snake, ready to strike.

 

The back door shut and footsteps behind them announced the return of George.

 

Severus tossed a bread roll up and down in his hand like a cricket bowler measuring the wind. He was staring intently at the reflection in a framed mirror on the opposite wall. Getting the idea, Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at the roll, wordlessly transfiguring part of it. Severus tossed it up and down again, and locked eyes with Hermione as George tip-toed behind them.

 

As George slowed behind Hermione, Severus tossed the roll carelessly over his shoulder at George’s head, where on impact it burst into a cloud of green and red glitter. “Augh!”

 

Severus leaned in to Hermione and muttered into her ear. “Green and Red?”

 

Defensively, Hermione retorted, “It is Christmas, and he is a Gryffindor.”

 

Flailing about, George was discovering that the glitter was attracted to his skin like fleas to a dog. “Oi, geroff!” And it was just as itchy too.

 

Twisting in his seat, Severus cast a quick shield charm about George. It kept the glitter in place, and away from the children who were hanging off of their chairs a few yards away, eyes wide with amusement as their Uncle danced about. Victoire crooned, “Ma mère, look. He’s all sparkly!”

 

Hermione turned her back on George but continued to observe him in the mirror. She didn’t feel very guilty. Pranking was George’s way of showing his affection, so it was only polite that she give as good as he gave.  

 

Andromeda cleared her throat. “So, when will you be releasing George from his glitter-hell? After all, he did  _invite_ you, Severus.”

 

Hermione was straightening up in her chair, if possible looking even more guilty. “It’ll wash off.”

 

Severus turned to regard George, who was currently doing a good impression of the Wah Watusi. A lazy flick of his wand later, and all of the red glitter on George’s person turned silver. “There. That’s better.”

 

“You know full well that isn’t what I meant.” With a sigh, Andromeda stood up and cast, “Mobilicorpus.” She walked George out into the yard, calling over her shoulder, “Be back in a bit.”

 

Ron’s guffaws organised into a mocking jeer that carried after the sparkle-Weasley, “George, you prat! You should know better than to pick on Hermione.” He redirected his attention to his friends, “Remember Marietta? Wicked!”

 

Hermione froze in place, her eyes fixing on Ron. “Shut up, Ron.”

 

Ron, feeling that he had the upper hand for once, added, “And then there was the time that you set fire to… OW!” Ginny was glaring at her brother.

 

Severus was leaning back in his chair, his hands templed together and eyes narrowed at Ron, glinting with cool interest. His only comment was, “I see.”

 

Clenching her hands in her lap, Hermione bit her lower lip, wondering what exactly Ron had let leak through. Severus’ eye was twitching again and he looked rather like he was about to take loads of points from Gryffindor. She shrunk down in horror, wishing she could disappear.

 

Harry’s green eyes were alight with humor. “Bet you’ll set fire to more than just his...” *CRACK*

 

Ginny lowered her wand, looking annoyed. “Boys are so stupid.”

 

Harry was now sporting a mouth full of sticky toffee. “Mmmph!” It didn’t look like he was going to be able to work his way free of that for some time.

 

Eyes narrowed at Harry, Severus growled, “Mind your  _mouth_ , Potter.” He turned to consider Hermione, expression softening for a fraction of a second at the sight of her slouched down into her seat, her nose about level with the table. Harry, meanwhile, was doing a very good imitation of a mutinous cow chewing its cud.

 

Both Ron and Harry being occupied with getting free of Ginny’s jinxes meant that no one was paying attention when Severus leaned over to whisper to Hermione, “Foreshadowing, Hermione? I hope the third time  _is_ the charm.”

 

Hermione looked confused, and the clanking of cutlery and dishware clearing itself served as cover as she asked, “Come again?”

 

Unable to help himself, Severus laughed out loud, crossing his arms across his chest. The bark was short lived as pain lined the Potions Master’s face.

 

Irritated, Hermione frowned at him. She didn’t like it when she missed things.

 

Holding his side, Severus responded to her unspoken request for clarification, “Yes, I imagine you will.” He raked his eyes up and down Hermione’s slight form, dressed in muggle clothes as she was, and the heat of his desire kindled a flame of her own when he met her eyes once more with a smug smirk.

 

A faint “Oh” escaped her lips as the knut dropped. Hermione’s face turned a bright crimson. Scandalised, Hermione ground out. “Never mind.”

 

Ginny’s eyes sparkled with amusement and Ron looked like he was about to get sick. He opened his mouth to say something but Ginny kicked him under the table. Harry placidly chewed on.

 

From a distance they could hear a masculine voice yell, “Wa ha ha hoooey!” It was punctuated with huge splash from the direction of the duck pond. The whole table laughed as the children dashed to the window to get a glimpse of what Uncle George was up to now.

 

Under the cover of distraction, Severus slipped an arm about Hermione’s shoulders, and she understood that he wasn’t really angry with her, nor was he going to toss her down on the table and ravish her right there.  She glanced up at him nervously and squirmed in her seat, uncertain of what to do with the arousal he had provoked in her moments before. He had returned his considerable attention to the general room. A gentle squeeze of her shoulder told her that he was still present with her too.

 

She moved closer, relishing the contact, and her heart sang out in triumph. This was real, it was theirs. She had stood up to Molly Weasley, and been open with her parents. She couldn’t imagine that there could be much worse to weather at this stage of the affair. Their bond was being tested, and no doubt it would continue to be scrutinized every step of the way. She knew that ‘bond’ wasn’t exactly the right word for what they had, but as a word ‘relationship’ felt so mealy in her mouth, so inadequate and too clinical. Was it too soon to call it love? How much time should pass before even having such thoughts?

 

As day passed into evening, Hermione caught herself covertly watching Severus, as though if she looked away he might fade to nothingness, like an unattended  _Patronus_. He seemed too good to be true, the reversal in attitude too bizarre. At any moment, reality would reassert itself, and this joy would be ripped away.

 

When Molly broke out the wireless for Celestina Warbeck’s annual Christmas program, Severus remembered that he had a potion that required his attention. Urgently. “No, it is rather important that I attend to it, Arthur, thank you for dinner. It was ... unexpectedly pleasant.” He acknowledged Ginny in his farewells, “Thank you for a lovely day.”    
  


Ginny had approached Hermione earlier and insisted that she stay at least another day as originally planned, promising to assure that her mother would be civil at least or  _Confunded_ at worst.

 

As the reedy, ear-curdling voice of The Singing Sorceress Who Needed to Hang it Up filtered out into the yard, Hermione felt a strong impulse to flee too. Turning desperate eyes on the man who had come to her support earlier that day, Hermione asked plaintively, “Do you need assistance? I could pack in just a moment.”

 

A flash of humor glittered in Severus’ dark eyes as he looked over her shoulder, noting Arthur and Ginny standing in the door, duennas for Hermione, right and proper. “I would hate to pull you away from such pleasant amusements with your friends.” As she opened her mouth to protest, he held up a hand. “Some other time, Hermione.”

 

Defeated, Hermione was quiet as Severus reverted to a more formal mode of address. It was time to say goodnight, which he did, kissing her hand with lips lingering over her sensitive knuckles. She mustered a brave smile, and before she could blink he was gone.

 

Spending some time with little James helped distract Hermione from her roiling thoughts. His warm body and weight were comforting in her arms. The baby boy was big enough to walk, and was rather heavy as she toted him upstairs on her way to turn him over to his parents. Hermione was left alone with her ruminations for the first time since she woke up that morning in her childhood bed. It felt like weeks had passed in the interim. She closed her eyes and listened, picking out the cadences of Harry’s voice reading to James. She probably had at least ten minutes before she would have company again.

 

After a furtive look at the door, she fished about in her beaded bag and pulled out the green journal. It was warm under her fingers, and she wondered if there was anything to find.

 

_Hermione,_

 

_While I regret the need for my presence today, I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather have been. The Weasleys were, with the one exception, tolerable._

 

_What I do regret is that without lifting a finger or breathing a word I seem to be a source of division between you and your friends. My past is enshrouded in dark, desperate shames and terrible secrets. You and Potter, and the Order brought out the best moments for the public in defense of my life and freedom, but for every one of those, there are an unforgivable number of moments of dark intent or forced restraint._

 

_There is little to recommend me to your parents. How could they delight in the prospect of you spending your days with a wizard who enacted terrible atrocities against muggles, regardless of motive? Dark magic has stained my soul, Hermione. Do not make the mistake of thinking me blameless, or even good. I am not a nice man, nor an easy companion._

 

_I don’t deserve you, brightest and sweetest of witches. If you come to your senses, I will understand._

 

_Think on what I have said, on what Mrs Weasley and your friends have said or undoubtably are thinking. We are united in the desire to see you happy. What I can promise is that I will always protect you._

 

__~Severus._ _

 

  
  


Hermione’s heart broke for Severus as she read, but by the end of the letter, she was angry. Quill in hand, she penned what she intended to be a terse response.

  
  


_Severus,_

 

_You have made yourself crystal clear. Your doubts are noted and your concerns have been vetted and duly discarded. You persist in treating me as a child, to be protected, shielded from ugly truths.  I was fairly certain you’d noticed that I’m a fully grown, battle-proven witch, one who saved your damned life. Perhaps Nagini’s venom addled your wits, or did I knock them out of you yesterday myself? I am of half a mind to march back there and do it again!_

 

_If you think you are going to run me off with warnings about your past and reputation tarnishing mine, I’m going to laugh in your face. Maybe you should worry about my association with you, if you are so squeamish._

 

_When I was only eleven I lied to the teachers, set YOU on fire, and broke into the protections set about the Philosopher’s Stone. Later I fooled Dolores Umbridge into shouting abuse at the centaurs. I broke into the ministry and freed muggleborns who were fated to go to Azkaban. I helped free Sirius Black. I smuggled an illegal dragon out of Hogwarts. Even after your hints I concealed the presence of a werewolf on staff at Hogwarts. I conned all of the DA into signing a jinxed parchment, without telling them why. I broke into Gringott’s, by impersonating Bellatrix LeStrange only one day after having survived torture at her hands. I stole priceless artifacts and helped to destroy them. I robbed Hogwarts of rare books. I spent months on the run from the Ministry, wearing a piece of Voldemort’s soul about my neck. I fought, Severus. I did things I’m not proud of too._

 

_Don’t forget, I’ve singlehandedly seduced and suborned the hearts of all of the notable single wizards of the age. Harry, Krum, Ron and now you. I am not going to let you get away so easily._

 

_I imagine that from your perspective this is very little compared to what you might have done, but consider this point: I did all of that before I turned eighteen and like you I did it because it had to be done._

 

_I am a stubborn Gryffindor, Severus Snape. You can’t scare me away. In the words of Tom Petty:_

 

_Well I won’t back down,_

_No I won’t back down._

_You can stand me up at the gates of hell_

_But I won’t back down._

 

_Let’s have no more of this foolishness. Don’t let the wraiths of the past consume the happiness in front of you, that is for us to feast upon here and now._

 

__~ H_ _

 

When she lifted her quill from the page, the book pulsed warmly under her fingers, indicating that the charm was propagating. She admired the spellwork on it, thinking through the layers of complexity. It was a two-way reciprocal gemino, not a one-way like she achieved with the DA’s coins so long ago on her first attempt. Movement at the door prompted Hermione to flip the green journal closed, and she found Ginny looking on with a small, knowing smile. “Come downstairs for a little while, Hermione? Celestina’s over with and James is sleeping.” Hermione slipped the journal away into her bag, before walking out arm in arm with Ginny.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I Won't Back Down" was written by Jeff Lynne and Tom Petty, song rights are owned by © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC, Warner/Chappell Music, Inc. I don't own a thing and make no money off of this story.


	5. The Second Day of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is wearing its Christmas best, thanks to [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked), who didn't let it out the front door without the proper jacket and tie.

Hermione woke early the next morning, again to tapping at her window. Wrapping herself in a red over robe, she undid the latch to admit the giant eagle owl from yesterday who’d returned, gripping another parcel. Surprised, it took a moment for her to recall her manners and fish out some owl treats for the courier, who accepted the offerings with grave dignity before taking off once more.

 

The tag on the parcel read, “Second day of Christmas, for Hermione.” The handwriting was a give away and she held it in her hand, weighing the message in that one simple line.  The paper was white with a silver ribbon, which she drew off and set aside along with the green from yesterday.

 

A pair of supple silvery-blue gloves lay inside and Hermione ran a finger over them, admiring how thin the hide was. A card was cradled in the palm of the topmost glove, and she picked it out to read the spidery writing thereon.

 

_Hermione,_

 

_In preparation for the capture of my heart, which is generally known to be black, venomous and colder than a yeti’s tit (according to one lively note that I received yesterday), I thought you might be in need of some protective gear. I have it on good authority from my shopping consultants that these gloves are as fashionable as they are practical._

 

_There is no one better qualified to handle such a prickly organ, and I have discovered that the traitorous thing has decided to beat only for you._

 

__~Severus_ _

 

 

Hermione swayed under the force of his declaration, a goofy grin slipping onto her face. After reading the card a second time she packed away the gloves carefully, and set about preparing for a second day with the Weasleys and the Potters.

 

As she brushed her teeth, her thoughts slid back to the label on her gift and she found herself humming the refrain to 12 Days of Christmas, starting at five.  After the last note faded, she dropped her head to her hands and chuckled. Severus Snape, the dour and cranky Potions Master of her childhood was her  _boyfriend_ , and he managed to make an incredibly romantic gesture out of an elaborate joke. And it had taken her over a full day to get it. Where was this fantastic man hiding all of these years?

 

Right under all of their noses,  _obviously_.

 

Hermione finished up and dressed quickly, fit to bursting with joy. She was pants at keeping secrets, so it was not entirely a bad thing that the papers outed Hermione and Severus to the entire Wizarding World after their third date. Although, if you looked at it from the strictest angle, they hadn’t been on even one date yet, not a proper one.

 

* * *

 

Back in her quarters at Hogwarts, Hermione paced back and forth, chewing on a lock of hair as she pondered what to do next, one eye on the clock.

 

Her day was pleasant enough: she’d spent hours catching up with Ginny, and helping with little James. He was toddling all over the place and thought that opening cabinet doors was the best fun one could have, magic or not. He was curious and fast, and needed guarding for certain.

 

Ginny had been impressed when Hermione found a quiet moment to tell her about the owl she’d received that morning and Severus’ particular alloy of romantic and sardonic.

 

Old friends stopped by the Burrow - Luna, Kingsley, and Neville. Of all of them, only Kingsley seemed surprised by the news that the Prophet reported at least some facts. Harry was tellingly silent on the subject, and when Mrs Weasley offered him treacle tart he turned a charming shade of puce. George was off to his shop, as Boxing day was always quite busy for the store and Ron had gone with him to serve as extra hands.

 

Molly was showing signs of throwing off the Confundus charm set upon her by dinner and Hermione, unable to stomach the thought of recasting the charm just because of her presence, begged leave of the Weasley Clan.

 

She took the floo back, stepping through Professor McGonagall’s office, where she was gravely handed a bag of mail with the following advice: “Make sure you have a roaring fire going when you decide to sort through these, and I’d recommend you keep wine or calming drafts within arm’s reach.”  

 

The bag of mail sat in a sagging pile on the floor by her tiny fireplace. Her room was a strange shape, more of a wedge as it was located in Gryffindor tower, below McGonagall’s. Tapestries covered the walls, reducing the drafts and adding warmth to what would otherwise be a stark, cut stone wall. Behind one of them was a window large enough to boast a comfortable seat within the sill, although it would not have served for a larger person. She had a pile of books, including the one that she had asked after weeks ago waiting for her.  There was no way she’d be able to settle down to read.

 

Her insides felt as tight as a spring, ready to burst. She’d missed dinner, so there wasn’t a meal to attend. She pulled the curtain aside to measure how much more of the dying light she would have. A walk would have done her a lot of good, but the light was low. She did have those night vision goggles, perhaps she ought to try them? They had been a gift from Luna, paired with her usual offhand comment that Hermione was likely to need them quite soon.

 

Huffing in frustration, she turned her mind to unpacking the beaded bag. Her clothes were sorted and cleared away easily, but a small stack of presents accumulated on the bed. There was a stack of books, naturally. Those were easy enough to sort.

 

At first glance one might think it strange or perhaps even cruel that the only space that well known bibliophile, Professor Granger, had to dedicate to her collection was the shortest wall that flanked the entry hall. Wizards familiar with Granger’s proclivities would on closer inspection find a marvelous invention. Arthur Weasley was a kind man who was plain spoken and well liked. Where he really shone was in his workshed. He had a knack for working with mundane objects to make them magical. While he was known for his fascination with muggle inventions, he was an artisan by passion and made objects that were entirely magical.

 

When Hermione approached his family two years ago with a gift of a library’s worth of books for which she would no longer have room on taking up her position at Hogwarts, Arthur’s mind clicked into overdrive. Thus was born a collaboration between Arthur and Hermione, which produced the first iteration of a magical bookcase, fitted with undetectable extension charms and sliding shelves. Hermione added a filing system which was tuned to her own unique style, delineated by runic syllables.

 

For all of its brilliance, the case had one catastrophic flaw. If the books fell from the shelves while hidden, it was bloody tedious to retrieve them. Worse, if you didn’t do it immediately, the books would get jammed, their delicate pages wrinkled or torn. After some tweaking this was much less likely to happen, but Hermione never forgot how he beloved copy of Spellman’s Syllabary, which had traveled with her so far had seen its spine broken beyond repair under the force of hundreds of books.

 

It took a light touch to set the books on the lowest shelf flying, another touch to stop it. The bottom shelf was for the taller books, and typically had illustrated texts. Her mother had gifted Hermione an illustrated guide to the Medicinal Plants of the South American Rainforests. The photos were luscious, and threatened to pull her off task, but she forced herself to let go, and slipped it home between other volumes on herbology. Looking at what else she had, she decided to settle on her knees, flicking her finger at the second shelf, which she considered mostly recreational reading. It was a mixture of mundane and magical works, and there she shelved a book of magical traditions from Neville, and a scholarly work on the legends of the Sidhe, a gift from Luna, was held aside to be added to her window stock.

 

The cover of ‘Magic’s Price, Sidhe’s Device’ was sufficient to hold Hermione’s attention so when she reached over for the next book, she was startled to find that it was the Journal. She hadn’t looked at it since she fired off the reply that evening. The deep green leather was cool to the touch as she picked it up and weighed it in her hands. Where eagerness and excitement ruled moments before, now she found herself strangely reluctant. A niggling part of her wondered if He had written a reply yet, and if he had not, what did it Mean?

 

Rising from the floor, Hermione walked the Journal over to her desk and laid it there, running her fingers over the smooth, unadorned cover. She attempted to sort through the change in her attitude. What did she want, what had she expected, and furthermore, what was she afraid of?

 

Turning away, she set her eyes on the tin of pear tea, and a residue of amusement loosened the grip of dread that was threatening to paralyse her. “Tea, of course.” She had bowed out before the evening meal was served and felt she was too late here to ask for anything from the kitchens. Truth be told, she had eaten a lot in the past three days and was starting to feel gorged. Tea and a few biscuits would go a long way, and come to think on it, Luna gifted her with a tin earlier today.

 

Minutes later she returned to the desk, fortified with tea, the hardest biscuit she ever tasted gripped in her teeth. She flipped open the journal and pulled back, as though she expected it to bite her. The first note from Severus was there, which seemed harmless enough. Her eyes traced over the words, following over the spidery handwriting, ‘ _The castle has been quiet without you.’_ He missed her. Was he missing her now and why didn’t she just go find out?

 

Pulling the journal towards her, she gnawed on the fig-based aberration as she flipped the page. Luna said it was from an ancient roman recipe that was passed down generations. Perhaps she meant the actual biscuit was passed down generations, she wouldn’t put either scenario past her friend. She flipped the page, perusing her own thank you note. She took the fig-cement biscuit and stuck its end in her tea and with a sigh flipped to the next page. The outpouring of guilt therein frustrated her. Would he think so little of her, that she’d turn away at the first sign of trouble?

 

Her eyes scanned the page that followed, her own fierce answer. She would fight Severus himself if she had to. Her vision swam for a moment and she recalled the look of wonder on his face there in the Three Broomsticks when she promised to help him find happiness. Right before that drunk punched him in the face. She sunk her head in her hands and strained to remember. How would things have been different if not for Alfred?

 

Turning the page, she was disappointed to see the paper was blank. Her fingers traced the page, not finding any trace of the warmth of the gemino magic in action, and then she felt a ridge in the paper. It  wasn’t just one ridge, it was a regular rectangle. Riffling through, she located the source: it was the note from her gift earlier in the day. She forgot that she had transferred it to the journal as to not lose it. Carefully she handled it as she might the most precious thing in the world. She read over the declaration again, which she hardly needed to do. She had the whole thing memorised. “ _... beat only for you._ ”

 

Leaning back in the chair, she let her head loll as she revelled in her happiness. She held the card to her chest, trying to master herself. It was too much.  

 

And then realisation hit her. He  _had_ written to her. It was  _she_ who hadn’t responded, the declaration was delivered hours ago. He bore his heart to her and the rush from it had sent her flying so high that she hadn’t come down enough to respond! That’s why she was uneasy. Ashamed, she pulled out her desk drawer and found a ratty old quill that had a little more life in it. Unstopping her jar of ink, Hermione set pen to paper.   
  


* * *

 

It was traditional for Severus to visit Narcissa on Boxing Day; Draco and his wife, Astoria, were also happily in attendance. Their visit was short as Astoria was still considerably weakened from carrying their son, Scorpius to term. Severus was stunned when Draco insisted that he hold the infant, who seemed unnaturally solemn compared to the boisterous, dangerous energy of little James. The baby seemed fascinated with Severus’ eyes and it made the old battle-scarred wizard wonder exactly what the pure soul of one so young could see. He had a strong feeling that Scorpius possessed the magic of his line. No squib here.

 

In contrast to the Weasley celebration there were no pranksters to guard against, and indeed with Astoria present all restrained themselves to topics of conversation that were as light hearted as could be. Often the Malfoys would fall into old patterns of discussing business affairs, building strategies for the rebirth of the Malfoy name. That was set aside today, in no small part due to Severus’ new relationship with Hermione Granger being brought to light two days prior, no thanks to the  _Prophet_.

 

Draco seemed highly entertained by his Godfather’s disequilibrium, and he caught Astoria’s disapproval more than once over drinks.

 

At first, Severus was surprised when Narcissa distracted the young couple by regaling them with the tale of the lovely Veronica Medici, mysterious Poison Mistress, who attended the Yule Ball with their father. She waspishly commented on how he had gotten an invitation. Draco had heard some rumor about her, and pressed his mother for details. The glint in Narcissa’s eyes was wicked as she suggested that Severus must know the witch on a Professional level, or perhaps he’d encountered her on a more personal one. Did she know?

 

Severus utilised his considerable skill in Occlumency to reply truthfully, “I have not met the witch face to face, but I have heard something of her in passing. The post she is rumored to have taken in China is quite prestigious and I am certain that she will not be returning to England.”

 

Narcissa made a dramatic speech about the loss to their society of such a charming and talented witch, and Severus rebounded with a ruthless inquiry regarding Lucius’ whereabouts and wellbeing.

 

The answer that he received surprised Severus greatly. Draco pulled a small box out of his breast pocket, and set it on the table. Narcissa’s face drained of color and it took a long moment before with shaking hands she opened the box to display the signet ring therein.

 

“Father penned a decidedly brief explanation when he sent this over to me on Christmas day, Mother. It seems that he will be away for the foreseeable future and that this absence was sanctioned by Proudfoot and Shacklebolt. I have contacted the parole board at the ministry, but it being Christmas I have yet to receive a reply. I will be presenting myself there first thing tomorrow morning.”

 

Narcissa sat, staring at the heirloom they expected Lucius to part with only after he breathed his last. Thickly she asked, “His portrait?”

 

Shaking his head in silent answer, Draco still looked deeply troubled. “He cancelled at the last minute before Christmas. My owl returned without a reply.”

 

Walking on thin ice, Severus decided to volunteer a partial truth, “When I last saw Lucius on Christmas Eve he appeared to be in good spirits and gave no indication that he would be traveling or secluding himself.” Inwardly he seethed at his friend for putting his family in this position of uncertainty. More Malfoy secrets to guard. The bloody wanker had secrets of Severus’ too, held hostage with no hope of ransom.

 

Astoria was wan, and she was the real reason the little family retired early. Severus made a mental note to approach Draco for further details, anxious to help if possible. She was not recovering from the pregnancy as a witch should. The baby was born in August, surely she should have rallied more by now? It was the delicacy of the matter that held him back from asking openly, concerned that such a topic could cast a further pall over what was a delightful family gathering.   
  


* * *

 

Severus returned to Hogwarts at dusk, and while he had been able to set aside his anxieties in front of the Malfoys, they returned with a vengeance as he trudged up the winding path from gate to castle. When there had been no reply to his gift that morning, Severus told himself Hermione was busy. When there had still been no response by noon, he started to worry that he had said too much, that she was having second thoughts in spite of her adamant declarations the night before.

 

Ever since he had borne the mantle of Headmaster for that brief, disastrous tenure, he had developed a sort of awareness of the school and its magics. If he concentrated and opened his mind to it, he could discover the general state of all of the inhabitants of the school. It was very difficult to sort out when the students were in attendance, but few people remained behind over the holidays. Certainty that she was back quickened his steps, and shamelessly he used his link to measure Hermione’s state. She was worried, pacing in her chamber. The castle was unable to discern more, but it was enough to fan the flames of Severus’ own anxieties.

 

After arriving in his own Dungeon quarters, travel cloak half off, he stopped immediately at his desk. Fingers tingling from the cold, he could feel the heat off of the Journal that sat there. Trembling, he opened it, sinking into the chair and began to read.  

 

_Severus,_

 

_I was unprepared for you. How else could one explain how a seasoned seductress such as myself was so affected by your note this morning? The gloves are lovely, my compliments to your consultants (I need to have a conversation with Conrad sometime), but oh Severus… the words you penned were the true treasure. It is a special kind of magic that can leap up from mundane parchment and do such things to me. My wits have been fettered, my tongue turned to wood, and my own tender heart is inexplicably missing. You have intoxicated me, caught me in some kind of spell and it is all I can do to remember to breathe._

 

_Truly, I’ve been rather muddled all day, and you know how prone I am to wearing my heart on my sleeve. Everyone has noticed, I am sure. I don’t really care who sees how happy I am, I expect they’ll recover from the shock. Even Molly Weasley. I am glad that Charlie finally mentioned his ‘friend.’ I almost feel sorry for her, but honestly. She only has herself to blame for her own willful ignorance. I’m incredibly pleased for Charlie and Mihai, although part of my pleasure is undoubtedly gleaned from the distraction it provided. I must remember to draft a thank you to Charlie. Something tells me the timing was no accident._

 

_These last two days have galvanised my resolve and thrown considerations formerly kept in the quietest depths of my mind into the light of day. I don’t care what people say. I have a sack of mail that greeted me on my return and I’m of more than half a mind to pitch the entire thing into the fire._

 

_When will I get to see you again?_

 

__~Hermione_ _

 

 

Severus looked up at the mirror in front of him, surveying his appearance. His hair was still held back with the serpentine tie Hermione gifted him yesterday. He’d do. Attendance to dinner at the Malfoys always required formal dress. The high necked shirt and cravat, green vest, and black robes rather suited him, and were entirely necessary in the drafty mansion. Tossing his cloak to a nearby wingback armchair, he penned a response.

 

_Hermione,_

 

_I returned but moments ago. I could help you sort through that mail, if you are so inclined?_

__~S_ _

 

 

Before the magic had a chance to cool, the warmth under his cold fingers redoubled as Hermione’s answer bloomed into view.

 

_Severus,_

 

_Who am I to refuse such a generous offer? Come up any time._

 

__~Hermione._ _

 

  
  


* * *

 

Hermione’s dreams that night were threaded through with snatches of memory mined from the treasure trove of the previous days. The vision of Severus as he presented himself there at her doorstep was enough fuel for days. He stood there, one arm resting on her doorframe, the other on his hip in a pose of tension masquerading as ease. The hungry way he had searched her face thrilled her. In fact, as they sat together over drinks on the sofa by the hearth, it wasn’t just the fire that had heated her up. The way that he had leaned over to examine the contents of one of the letters was enough to make her break out into a sweat and minutes later she had needed to peel away the Weasley sweater she still wore against the castle’s drafts, leaving her in her jeans and an old favorite shirt that was but a shade of its former glory, soft and threadbare.

 

When she returned to her seat, tucking her foot underneath her, she was struck by the sheer animalistic attractiveness of the wizard next to her.  His cravat had been discarded in deference to the heat, presumably, and the scarred expanse of neck laid bare to her was fascinating to the eye. Severus had looked away from her, made uncomfortable by her attention.

 

Tentatively, she reached out and grabbed his hand, and he looked back at her, as she’d intended. Before he could look away, she smiled, hoping that he would read what she was feeling and thinking there.

 

“Well?”

 

Hermione tilted her head, gratified that he was the one that broke the silence. “Well what?”

 

He shifted in his seat, facing her more fully now, not letting go of her hand, she noticed. “I thought you were about to say something.”

 

“I was saying something, Severus.” She lightly squeezed his fingers, encouraging him along.

 

He shut his eyes, as if straining to remember. “Perhaps you forgot to say it out loud?”

 

She took advantage of his inattention to lean forwards, kissing him tenderly in an effort to convey the full measure of the feeling of her own attraction to and admiration for him before pulling back to check the effect. “How about now, did you hear me that time?”

 

Eyes bright with the gist of the game, he leaned towards her, “I think so, but perhaps if I were to repeat back to you, to make sure I understood?”  

 

Raising her eyebrows, she smiled in invitation. “Most assuredly, you may.”

 

His kiss was languid, patient, and built slowly in unrelenting intensity until it became overwhelming and they broke apart lest they spontaneously combust. He whispered, “Well, did I get it right?”

 

Gasping for breath, she retreated into words, “I mean it, Severus. I want to know all of you. Don’t hide from me.” As he processed her words, before he could move away she dipped her head and planted a gentle kiss on the pulse point at the base of his scarred throat.

 

He shuddered under her lips before pushing her back, away from him. His head was bowed, his eyes averted and he was breathing hard as though he had just run up all of the stairs in the castle. It was in that moment that she noticed the sweat beading up on his forehead. Something told her to give him the space. He had not let go of her hand, so she could feel the tremors, the distress that he was in. Still, she waited. The fractured mood cooled her down considerably.

 

As quickly as it came on, the panic attack faded. She could see his breathing slow down, the tension uncurl. His hand spasmed around hers. “I’m… I’m sorry, Hermione.”

 

Shaking her head, “Don’t be. Please. I understand.” She tried to make eye contact, willed him to see her, physically present with him in that moment. “I get them too, you see.”

 

He looked like he had run a marathon, his clothes were drenched. He let go of her hand and fell back on the sofa, putting his arms over his eyes as though that might block out the unpleasantness.

 

Hermione let go of his hand with some reluctance, not wanting to push him lest he break. “Did I… ?”

 

Severus looked up then, his eyes still shielded from the firelight. His voice was heavy with regret. “No. Yes. I… I don’t know, Hermione. It took me by surprise.” He sat up, and exhaustion was plain on his face as he drew the sleeve of his white shirt across his forehead.

 

Torn and unsure what to do, Hermione chewed on her lower lip. She extended her hand to him, palm up. It was an invitation. “I am here, Severus. Whatever it is, I won’t walk away. It will be okay.”

 

Something that sounded suspiciously like a sob masquerading as a laugh ripped from his throat. “Goddamned Gryffindor.” He looked back at her. “Of course you wouldn’t. You’re compelled by your nature to save me.”

 

She could tell that he didn’t mean it like it sounded, so she decided to play along. Schooling her expression to one she imagined she might use on a particularly difficult translation, she responded,  “Well, I did start on the Snape project years ago. It requires additional study.” Not liking her own tone, she added, “I want this. You are worth it.” She waited a moment, softening her expression before asking, “And you?”

 

In answer, he picked up her offered hand and held it cupped in his own, spreading her fingers so that he could drop a kiss in the palm. “I don’t think I have the strength to deny you anything, Hermione. For you, I will try.”

 

Heart soaring, Hermione smiled. “I’ll try to make sure you don’t regret it.” Unbidden tears dropped onto her cheeks. “Merlin’s saggy y-fronts. Sorry.” She felt rather than heard his responding laughter as he gathered her into a hug.

 

In answer, she felt him drop a kiss on to the top of her head, and they clung to one another, not feeling the need to speak or move until the fire died down very low. It was the sound of his snoring that enlivened Hermione to the hour and their mutual state of exhaustion.  Rousing herself, she woke him, and they said sleepy farewells at the door, both heading off to their own beds. In her case, visions of something rather more satisfying than sugar plums would be dancing in her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to everyone who takes the moment to click that kudos button or leave a comment. It really makes my day!


	6. The Third and Fourth Days of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone rolls their eyes at yet another note thanking my beta, [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked), I need you to understand that she's taken on a huge project in helping me whip this story into shape. She reviews each chapter more than once, and I can't believe how fortunate I am to have met a second beta who is so fabulous. Coromandel's the first, naturally. I love you both for all you've done for me. Thank you!

Tap. Tap. Tappity tap.

 

Broken from a drowsy reverie, Hermione found that for the third day in a row, she was greeted by the sight of the huge Eagle-owl. A rush of consternation washed over her as she realised what it meant. Was he really going to keep on with this? Surely he understood that he had secured her affections.

 

Undoing the latch, she welcomed in the owl, who found a perch on the foot of her bed. After a moment’s rummaging she returned to him with an offer of fresher treats. She had taken the time to renew her dwindling supply the day before. She murmured, “What do you have for me today, you gorgeous creature? And why haven’t I thought to ask your name?”

 

The owl hooted softly and feigned a perfunctory nip at her wild mane of curls which she ignored. When she relieved the bird of its burden, a box similar in shape to yesterday’s but much lighter and wrapped in silver paper, she yelped as she was brought up short. The wicked raptor had one of her curls in its beak. She pulled cautiously back, but the owl wouldn’t let go.

 

Fumbling, she found the treat bag and held one up. “Um, nice owl. Would you like another treat?”

 

When the owl didn’t move or answer she tilted her head, and was able to see it blinking back at her. Firmly, she commanded, “Let. GO. I’m not a mouse!”

 

That too had no effect. She had two options: attack or run. She didn’t like the attack tactic. The owl’s expression seemed smug to her now. Snorting, she took out her wand and performed a quick severing charm on her hair.  “Ha! I’m free. What do you make of that?”

 

Placidly the owl blinked back at her and before she could say another word it launched itself into the air and out the window, into the grey morning, still carrying her hair.

 

Shaking her head, Hermione closed the window against the cold December wind and examined the prize. The tag on the outside read, “To Hermione, The Third Day of Christmas.” It was tied together with silver cord, and this too was tucked away for later reuse.

 

After prizing the box open, she found three strange looking quills, each divested of most its barbs, leaving the shaft bare except the very tip where a short, shapely vane of feather adorned it. Two were white and the third was black. The note inside read, “Join me for the afternoon, if you would. Dress warm and casually. Black quill is a portkey, timed for 13:00. ~ S.”

 

Transported, Hermione shouted “YES!” Severus Snape had asked her out on a date. A real one.

 

It was as she was working on grading essays left over from midterms that her mind wandered, and her eye fell on the tag. Unbidden, the lyrics to the carol popped into her head. Three french hens…

 

Outside in the hallway, heads turned in the portraits as the laughter that issued from Professor Granger was loud enough to be heard all of the way to the owlery.

 

It was official. Severus Snape had simultaneously the worst and best sense of humor she had ever seen. Fighting to regain control of herself, Hermione hugged her sides, by now sore with the laughter. Eyes streaming, she sought out her handkerchief, muttering, “Pens,” before being transported into another fit of giggles that was nearly impossible to quell.  
  


* * *

 

Nightmares plagued Severus’ dreams and he slept very little that night. Around 2 in the morning he gave up on sleep for a while and went flying. The darkness was comforting to him, the cold sharpening his thoughts.

 

He was ashamed of what happened earlier. Hermione having witnessed his panic attack only made it that much worse, and on top of it all, it made her cry. It was perhaps that which brought him back from the depths of the anxiety that threatened to pull him back under. He wasn’t accustomed to this feeling, to being cared for in turn. It seemed too easy, too right. There had to be a catch, and yet he knew that she really meant what she said. It wasn’t a game or manipulation. She promised to help him find happiness weeks ago. He hadn’t expected her to really mean it, not truly. In fact he had done his best to change her mind.

 

Last night she said she wanted this, which he took to mean them together. Specifically, she felt it was worth it, that he was worth it. With tears in her eyes, she followed it up with the worst curse he’d heard in his life, and made him laugh. Hermione Granger, brilliant witch and powerful muggleborn, the right hand of Harry Potter, was incapable of swearing like she meant it. It was endearing.

 

As he winged back down to the Astronomy Tower, Severus’ spirit lifted in anticipation. He would see her smile, make her laugh at every opportunity. He needed her laughter, her delight, like a fish needed water. It made it more possible to breathe. To go on.

 

Hours later, Severus waited for a response from Hermione. Archimedes returned some time ago, and Severus was dismayed to find that the crafty owl had stolen a lock of Hermione’s hair. Braving the owl’s displeasure, he fetched it away by distracting the owl. It was a simple device, transfiguring an owl treat into a mouse. The magic didn’t last long, but it was sufficient for its purpose and Archimedes’ look of surprise as the mouse reverted back to a dry, inert treat was memorable. Tucking the curls into his inner pocket, he redirected his attention to his midyear restocking of the school potion supplies, pausing only when the journal heated in his pocket.

 

_Severus,_

 

_I am delighted and very much looking forwards to seeing you this afternoon._

 

_Love,_

_Hermione_

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione plopped into her chair in her chamber, awash with wonder and desire. The quill had taken her to a remote location in the Shetlands, where they spent the afternoon scouring the beach, checking murtlap traps, and picking crowberries - an evergreen that Hermione had never set eyes upon until now. She wasn’t fond of dealing with the murtlaps, but kept her peace as she knew how prolific and vital they were for healing potions. It was a relief when they took a port-key back home to drop off the carcasses for later.  

 

From there he side-along apparated them to a Cafe in Oxford for tea, a casual show of his still present status by the castle and its wards as a former Headmaster of the school. Arm in arm, he then took her to tour the Bodleian Library. Using muggle repellant charms, they slipped away from the organised tour and poked about the stacks. It was clear by his attentions that Severus was not there for the books, and she caught him watching her with a sort of hungry look on his face that made her heart skip a beat.

 

She couldn’t quite remember how they had ended up necking in a remote corner of the library, but she vividly recalled being interrupted by one of the resident ghosts, an archivist who lived there in centuries gone by. Blushing and distracted, her own voice had seemed unnaturally loud in her ears as she allowed herself to become embroiled in the ghost’s tale. It was interesting, detailing a time where magical texts were being rescued and brought here to save them from superstitious muggles and wizards who were afraid they would be found out.

 

As the shade shared his tale, Severus stood behind her, letting her lean against his chest. Outwardly he appeared to be listening with rapt attention. In reality he was driving Hermione to distraction with his hands upon her waist, deft fingers sneaking under her coat.

 

It was a late night shipment of these endangered books that brought the cutthroat who had caught poor Cuthbert unprepared. From his cooling corpse he rose, determined to continue as protector of the riches of the ages, scaring off the villain.  The murderous lout was not only a thief; he posed a real danger to the precious books, being stupid enough to carry a lit lantern with him.

 

With some persuasion, Cuthbert granted the couple access to the magical archives, whose entrance was hidden in a study room on the fourth floor. It was, of course, with strict warnings to respect the reverence of the place. Hermione felt like she was thirteen again, exploring the restricted section under an illegal pretext. They weren’t allowed to touch any of the tomes, and wand-light alone was permitted, no flames at all. The place was warded heavily against fire, removal (port-keys and apparition were strictly prohibited), and stealth magic.

 

The resident wizard librarian, one Salman de Bloise, was a pleasant surprise. On recognising Severus and Hermione he insisted on collecting their signatures on his visitor’s list, and issued them honorary memberships to the Bodleian’s Magical Support Society. Severus was indulgent and tersely polite - the latter meaning he was holding his tongue and letting Hermione do most of the talking. After a while, though, Hermione became concerned that he was not enjoying himself as much as she was. Making her excuses and promising to return one day in the near future, Hermione reluctantly tore herself away from the library.

 

Leaving from the magical side of the Library turned out to be lucky as the apparition point in the hidden courtyard was sheltered from the rain that poured down. When they arrived at the gates to Hogwarts, Hermione was bemused that Severus hadn’t chosen to apparate back into the school proper. When asked, he explained that it was a much more difficult thing to do magically, and he didn’t wish to tax the school’s wards for such a potentially frivolous use. The rain had been and gone, but the temperatures were dropping and the ground was slick under their feet.

 

Hermione had built up the courage now and asked in her best casual tone, “So, Mum and Dad have invited us over to dinner.”

 

A silence was the initial answer before Severus asked, “When?”

 

“Day after tomorrow. Of course, if you are busy, we can find another day. This seemed convenient, it still being the holiday.”  She held her breath, waiting.

 

Severus seemed so unreadable in that moment, but eventually came the desired reply, “Of course.”

 

Really she hadn’t expected it to be so easy, and was so surprised that she missed a dark patch on the path and fell down on the ice with a squeak. “Ow!”

 

If romance novels or films were anything to go by, this would be the point where the lovers would end up tumbling in the snow, or the hero would scoop the wounded witch up into his strong arms and bravely carry her back to safety. One of her favorites was Sense and Sensibility, although she rather thought that she resembled Marian as little as Severus resembled Wilohoughby. He made a much better Colonel Brandon, although his looks were too dark for the part.

 

The reality was that she picked her own self up with a hand from her companion. In turn, Severus flicked his wand, causing Hermione’s shoes to become much surer on the frozen ground. Feeling a great fool she asked timidly, “Which charm was that?”

 

“Calcei firmare.”

 

After a careful perusal of her inner indexes, she pointed out that it wasn’t in any of the editions of the Standard Book of Spells.

 

“No, it wouldn’t be.”

 

Hermione asked, “One of yours, then?”

 

A bark of laughter preceded his hasty response, “No. No, it was one taught to me by one of my Defense Teachers, long ago. Rather useful, to be able to count on one’s footing in a fight.”

 

“Oh, of course. Very good.” Tucking her hand into Severus’ proffered arm, they continued up to the Castle. Before long, she found herself at the door to her rooms.

 

He declined an offer to come in for tea, so Hermione found herself pulling him down by his collar once more so that she could kiss him. There in the hallway, Hermione made it her business to show Severus exactly how wonderful she thought his idea of a date was, and just how little she wanted for it to end. It was frustrating when he stepped away from her with a half smile. “I think that will carry me for days, Hermione. Have pity on this old wizard.”

 

Scoffing, Hermione idly wondered when he was going to have pity on her. Things had just started to get really interesting and she was willing to put up with the crick in her neck. “Rubbish, Severus.”

 

Severus reached forwards and wound a finger in one of her curls, threading it between fingers before tucking it back, behind her ear. She quivered at the disturbance of the air as his hand passed so near her ear and neck. “We have meetings tomorrow. You need your rest.”

 

Feeling safe to do so, Hermione groaned. “Say it isn’t so.”

 

She felt Severus’ warm breath on her ear as he answered her. “I am afraid it is.” Damn the man. He had to know what he was doing to her. She willed him to keep talking, to nibble on her ear. Anything but leave. A chaste kiss on the cheek was what she received.

 

Biting down on her disappointment and recognising that she was dangerously close to making herself a fool for a second time, she made an effort to master the urge to bash Severus over the head and drag him back into her lair. It was only the prospect of having to work tomorrow that saved him from such a fate. The internal struggle had cost her precious seconds and he was beyond her reach. “Good night, Severus.”

 

“Good night, Hermione.” She loved the sound of her name on his lips. She hated that it meant he was leaving. He walked backwards a few paces as though he could not tear his eyes away, before reaching the corner and disappearing from view. It was only then that she let herself into her rooms.

 

And now she lay in her bed, willing sleep to come whilst her mind remained abuzz with the events of the day, her body aching for more. She pulled the covers over her head, eventually falling into an uneasy slumber.   
  


* * *

 

Severus didn’t utilize his owl that morning, as his gift was too heavy for a bird, even an excellent one such as Archimedes, to carry easily. For some reason he found difficult to articulate, he didn’t want to give it to her personally either. It was the form of the thing. Knowing that she’d disapprove, Severus summoned one of the house elves.

 

Winky’s recovery had been spurred on by the loss of her protector, Dobby. Rather than lose all connection to reality, she took up his missions in life as a free elf. She had cleaned up her act and was missish as a puritan when it came to butterbeer and all other forms of strong drink.

When Severus requested she help him with his scheme, she responded most peculiarly.

 

“And why does Headmaster Snape want to surprise Professor Granger?” She was looking at him with eyes the color of muddy swamp water, narrowed to slits of suspicion.

 

Taken aback, Severus answered truthfully, “Because I think it would increase the positive impact of the gift. I must insist that you not disturb her rest, Winky.”

 

Eyes still fixed on him, she turned to the side, picking up the books. It was like being watched by an owl who had been divested of all of its feathers. Very off putting. He was astonished further when she commented, “We has been watching you, Headmaster. Professor Rolle was being very naughty playing tricks on Professor Granger. We not so sure about  _you._  Headmistress forbid interference, but we was watching. We is still watching.”

 

Severus had no idea that a house elf was capable of leering, but the evidence in front of him made his stomach flip. Everyone always forgot about the elves, and this time he was guilty of it himself. Before he could respond, Winky popped out of view, taking the gift with her. He felt like he was a schoolboy who was caught doing something particularly naughty, like looking up skirts. Unsettled and guilt-ridden, he threw himself into to his morning exercises, hoping that the activity would bleed off some of his pent up nerves before the staff meeting in two hours time.

 

Preferring to not have to navigate the halls in his trainers and togs, Severus exited the school through a hidden passage that opened out onto the bank of the lake near the boat house. Letting his stride lengthen he broke out into a lope, not caring about warm-ups or stretches.

 

Severus ran for the joy of it.    
  


* * *

 

Hermione woke suddenly, switching from an anxious dream where she was running about the castle, trying to duck away from being seen by her friends twice owing to use of the time turner, to panic that she was already late for work when her eyes popped open to see her room flooding with early morning light. Her eye was drawn to the window, but no owl tapped.

 

Still feeling that something was off, Hermione threw off the covers and sat upright, rubbing the sand away. It was then that she noticed the elf standing unnaturally quietly, her eyes inches away from Hermione’s face. Jumping up, Hermione shrieked in alarm, causing the elf to squeal and pull on its ears. In her haste, her foot caught on the edge of the rug beside her bed and Hermione ended up falling, her back striking the bedframe before she came to rest, looking up at the elf.

 

The elf was on the smaller size for its species and possessed murky brown eyes. Confronted with a close up view, it was clear that this elf was of the female persuasion as she was dressed in a primly pressed smocked dress of cornflower blue, that looked like it was originally made for a child. The elf had eschewed shoes or any other adornment. Groaning, Hermione held up a placating hand. “A moment, just a moment if you please.”

 

Letting go of her ears, Winky squinted down at Hermione, watching silently as the witch levered herself up to a standing position.

 

“Now, what can I do for you?” Hermione tried to summon a smile, which is difficult to do if you fall out of bed, right side or not. It came off more as a grimace, dressed with a lace of embarrassment.

 

The elf stepped to the side and a stack of presents four-high presented itself for perusal. “Headmaster wished Winky to be certain that Professor Granger received them.”

 

After doing a double-take at the title ‘Headmaster,’ Hermione reached over and snagged an over-robe from the headboard of her bed, where she usually stashed it every night.  Pulling it about her she felt more able to face the cold air of reality. “I’m sorry, what was your name again? I think I know you.”

 

“Winky, Professor Granger.” The elf was wringing her long fingered hands and looking at the stack anxiously.

 

Understanding struck Hermione like a bludger. This was Dobby’s friend. The one with the wee butterbeer problem. “Of course.” Hermione smiled down at the elf, considering the scant hair, and the creature’s posture. She wasn’t nearly as servile as she once had been. “You look well, Winky.”

 

With an ease that belied the slight figure’s frame, Winky reached behind herself and handed up the stack of presents. “If you please, Professor Granger. Winky swore to let you rest and to make sure this was a surprise.”

 

Biting her lip to smother the simultaneous urge to laugh and bluster, Hermione tentatively took the stack from Winky. She wasn’t surprised to feel the comforting weight that strongly suggested that these were books. Each was wrapped individually in shiny green paper, and all tied together with a neat black ribbon.  The tag on top read: “For Hermione, Fourth Day of Christmas.”

 

She took them over to the desk, and after checking the time, she made the decision to open the first book on the stack. Turning the book about to the right face she read the title with some confusion: “Vulgarities for the Virgin Tongue by Collin Byrd.” Flipping open the cover, she found scrawled on the title page, ‘Given the worst I’ve heard you drop was a reference to Merlin’s bloody bloomers, I thought that this might be the best point for you to start. - SS’  Face heating with embarrassment, Hermione’s eyes tracked up to the word,  _‘Virgin’_ embossed on the cover. Is that what he really thought of her? She couldn’t decide if she should be flattered or incensed.

 

She shook her head, reaching out for the next package which turned out to be “Bawdry Bards, a Brief History of Profanity and Its Masters by Collin Byrd.” Sure enough, another note scrawled on the title page read, ‘You appreciate historical context, hence I thought you might find this amusing. - SS.’ She found herself drawn in, perusing the Table of Contents.

 

A glance at the clock told her that if she wanted to shower and have breakfast, she’d need to hurry. Reluctantly she picked up the third book and unwrapped it. By now she was not surprised at all to find another text. “Advanced Study in Expletive Salutation  by Collin A. Byrd and Jo Castas.” This one looked dry, a more scholarly treatment of the topic of cursing. The title page read: ‘As I imagine you will wish to sit for a NEWT in the subject once you apply yourself. I caution you against practising in the student’s hearing. -SS.’  Hermione rolled her eyes at that one, muttering to herself, “As if there were a NEWT in that subject.”

 

Having no reason to linger over that particular volume, she pulled the last book free of its wrapping and righted it, “Maledictions for Every Occasion by Collin Byrd.”  Impatient to see what clever thing Severus had to say she cracked the book open and then found a list of page numbers scrawled in the narrow slanted handwriting she was coming to find irritating once more. She looked up at the clock and frowned. She didn’t have time for this. Later. She’d explore the cryptic message left for her later. Now she needed to shower. Forgotten, the elf had disappeared, and Hermione shrugged as she beat a hasty retreat to the cramped lav that was her all her own.

 

Approximately 8 minutes later, a loud groan could be heard over the sound of running water, rejoindered by Hermione’s declaration, “...THE WORST.” After a pause, the witch’s voice could be heard humming the refrain to 12 Days of Christmas, slightly off-key.

 

* * *

 

The Hogwarts faculty was enlisted to help dismantle the extravagant decor that had been hung for Christmas. Hermione bore up reasonably well under the task, although more than one Professor was heard to mumble things about slave labour. By the end of the day, Hermione didn’t want to see another holly leaf or pine needle for the next decade. Twelve months was surely too little time.

 

Students had left little ‘gifts’ for the staff all over the place, in the form of traps and charms meant to humiliate, minor pranks and downright wicked hexwork. All of it had to be cleaned up before the new term. Why were students so thoughtless, gagging for a laugh? All of the dormitories had a once-over as well, and prizes of conquest were presented to Queen Minerva in tribute.

 

The Headmistress was a deep well. On the surface she was all business, but if you reached down into the depths she had a pure quenching sense of humor that was tempered by hard-won wisdom. She didn’t move as easily as she once had, but it didn’t do to mistake her stiffness for frailty or weakness. She was as dangerous to cross as ever, if perhaps a half second slower on the draw than she once was.

 

For example, it was amusing to see her transfigure a Hufflepuff’s illicit stash of cigarettes into blank lollipop sticks. Nudey magazines were defaced, each model being given a new head to the vast amusement of all engaged. Argus Filch featured prominently alongside Hagrid. It was Hermione’s idea to replace the ‘articles’ with clippings from the annually published Futhark Futures, all requiring translation. Alcohol was outright confiscated and handed over to Severus for ‘testing.’ That which he deemed better than utter swill was added to the staff room supply for medicinal purposes later.

 

That night in her rooms she reflected on the day, that had culminated in a too short kiss outside her chamber door. She hated having to say goodnight, returning to her rooms alone. Severus was frustratingly professional for the majority of the day. Hermione was worried by his flat demeanor at first, but she did catch him looking at her once and the heat from that look was intense. She had to be careful. If he was fire, she was dry tinder, liable to go up in a blaze with a single spark.


	7. The Fifth Day of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter gets a bit more adult. Not that kids should be reading it. More to come, all developing from here. Earning my 'E'. 
> 
> Roses are red,  
> Violets are blue,  
> [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) is a wonderful beta  
> I hope you think so too!

Severus woke up, all nerves. He had agreed to meet Hermione’s parents for the first time tonight. He’d grown up around the Evans family, so they knew him as long as Lily had. He hadn’t made the best impression with them, although who could possibly deal with Petunia’s sniping without firing back? He wasn’t a saint. Baiting Tuney was easier than breathing and much more entertaining by far.

 

Today’s present for Hermione was subtly provocative. Part of him fervently hoped that she didn’t fully understand his gift, although his measure of her reactions to his own advances suggested she had little experience. Certainly none of her partners struck Severus as practised or imaginative lovers.

 

On the other hand, if she did understand, it would relieve some of the burden on his conscience. Weighing the intricately woven ring in his hand, he felt a rush of arousal. Its golden weight warmed against his skin, as though it were greeting him as an old friend. It had been a long time since he had worn a cock ring, and the enchantments on this one held enormous potential. The piece was a masterwork out of Scandinavia, featuring five stylised dragons interwoven sinuously around the ring’s circumference, interrupted by decorative knots. Each had a tiny chip of precious stone for its eye, imbued with different gifts intended to delight.

 

It was something of a risk to give her such a gift on the day that he was to meet her parents, but if he were to continue with his plan It had to be today that it was passed to her. Today _was_ the fifth day of Christmas.

 

With a flourish of his wrist, Severus slipped the golden cockring over the thick stemmed bunch of flowers that he had ordered especially for today and watched in satisfaction as it resized itself to fit. A ribbon secured all of the cryptic gift together, along with a scroll that studiously did not explain the purpose of the ring beyond fulfilling the verse’s requirements. Severus passed the fragrant bouquet of Gardenia and purple larkspur to Archimedes and waved the bird on his way, “Please take this to Hermione, Archi.”

For better or worse, it was done.

 

* * *

 

Hermione waited in the staff lounge for Severus as they were to travel to her parent’s house together. She was a full twenty minutes early, and she was well on her way to working herself into a tizzy when Conrad sailed in. He went to the sideboard and poured out a dram of liquor, before sauntering over to regard Hermione with a sly smile.

 

She had taken up residence on one of the more threadbare sofas, her feet tucked up underneath her. It was clear that she had taken an interest in her appearance, more so than usual.

 

Conrad folded into a chair opposite Hermione, swirling the scotch about in his glass, fascinated with the way it flowed down the sides of the crystal. “So, Professor Granger. How has your holiday been so far?”

 

Hermione felt herself blush at the oblique query, knowing full well that Conrad had no interest in the details of her visit with the Weasleys. He wanted to know about her love life. “Wonderful. Truly.” She tumbled over things in her head, before adding, “Severus deserves extra credit for his gift choices, I’ve never laughed so much.”

 

Tilting his head with a smug expression, Conrad encouraged her to share details. “Well, what did he settle on? We gave him a list, went through a lot of effort, really. More than a pack of fags and a nudie mag, I should hope.”  

 

Wanting confirmation of her suspicions, Hermione said, “You knew, didn’t you?” She wasn’t about to let the wizard get away without acknowledging his part.

 

Conrad turned wide blue eyes to Hermione in an excellent approximation of innocence. “That he was rubbish at asking for what he wants? Quite so. That you never formed an attachment after you left for Durmstrang, and that you delayed your studies by a semester to specifically rally Severus’ defense and secure his safety? That’s a matter of public record, Professor Granger.” He flashed a row of perfect teeth at her before prompting again. “So what did he get you?”

 

Tempted to answer flippantly, Hermione found herself repeating the offerings in reverse order as they would have been in the carol. “Five Gold Rings, Four Collin Byrd’s, Three French Pens, Two Dragon Gloves, and Partridge’s Spiced Pear Tea.”

 

Pulling a face, Conrad drawled, “You’re joking. What could possibly take the place of Six Geese A-Laying?”

 

Laughing, Hermione leaned forward,, “No I’m quite serious, Conrad.” She looked over her shoulder, eying the closed door to the hallway, and then checked the clock. He’d be walking through that door any moment now.

 

Behind her, a smothered choking sound came from Conrad. When she turned back to him, he had his fist pressed to his lips, and she thought he might be holding his breath for a moment.

 

“Are you quite alright, Conrad? I can cast  _anapneo_ if you need it, just make the sign.” Hermione gestured to her own throat, mimicking the international muggle sign for I’m choking.

 

Closing his eyes for a moment, Conrad appeared to master himself. One finger from his fist lifted in a controlled gesture towards her head. “That...” a cough interrupted him before he tried again, “That’s pretty, in your hair.”

 

Feeling her heart flutter with pleasure at the compliment, Hermione answered Conrad’s unspoken question. “I thought so too. Five gold rings, all little dragons. I thought it was snakes at first but they have legs. I almost missed it, hidden about the stems of a gardenia and larkspur bouquet.” A shy smile escaped her for a moment. “He’s very romantic. I had no idea.”

 

Jumping up to turn away from Hermione, Conrad had another coughing fit before he turned back to her, eyes streaming. “And, if you don’t mind me prying, what do you two have planned for the weekend?”

 

Hermione frowned, wondering if Conrad was coming down with something. He was certainly polishing off his drink in short order, maybe that would help that nasty cough. Realising that she had yet to answer, she said, “Oh, yes. Tonight we’re going to my parents for dinner.” She chewed on her lip, finding the excitement draining away at the mention. “They want to meet him, after I told them about us and the article in the Daily Prophet a week ago.”

 

Perhaps she was overly sensitive, but the sound of glass being set quite firmly on the sideboard made her jump. Whatever mirth had been there before was wiped clean now. Merlin, he must be ill. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he looked worried. He licked his lips before commenting, “I think you look rather pretty with your hair down. Don’t you think it would be nicer?“

 

The sound of the door opening from the hallway interrupted Conrad, and Severus joined them. All Hermione had eyes for was the tall striking figure of their Potions Master. He looked decidedly uncomfortable in a button-down collar shirt of slate grey, a knit vest of soft looking midnight blue, and trousers of his usual black. He had the air of a man who was about to go off to war, unsure of his fate. He spared Conrad a jerky nod. “Good evening.”

 

A silk tie hung loosely about his neck, waiting to be brought about his sensitive scars on his neck, presumably delayed until the last moment.  She was a bit disappointed to see that he hadn’t worn her Christmas gift. Earlier, she indulged herself as she dressed so that they could match, each with their own magical hair fastening. He had rather cleverly hidden it on the stem of a lovely bouquet, so it was beyond tempting to show him that she noticed and liked it. Later, perhaps.

 

Conrad had turned away from the couple and was refilling his tumbler, at the sidebar. “Off to meet the parents, Severus?”

 

Hermione stole a quick kiss before turning to look at the clock, doing some mental calculations. Early yet, but enough time to walk about the old neighborhood. Severus was standing there, looking dumbfounded. “You look lovely, Hermione.” His lips opened, his jaw worked, but no more sound came out.

 

Pleased, she threaded her fingers through his limp hand and she shivered at the chill in his fingers. “You’re cold. Sure that you don’t want a jumper?”

 

Turning back to the couple, Conrad lifted the glass to take another drink but it paused, hovering in front of his mouth. He commented in a casual tone, “I was just suggesting to Hermione that she’d look nicer with her hair down. Don’t you agree, Severus?”

 

Hermione frowned at Conrad. Was that a spark of mischief in the man’s eye again? Whatever he had in mind for her, she wasn’t going to play his game. He’d as much as admitted to manipulating them already, and the House Elves thought him naughty. Taking advantage of Severus’ lengthening silence, Hermione chirped, “Well I don’t feel like it. He’s seen it down; leave it free and my hair takes on a life of its own, threatening to eat small pets and children. Besides, I wanted to wear my gift.” She lifted herself up on tip-toes. “Thank you, by the way. I didn’t have time to write earlier, I was sorting out stocks for Transfiguration most of the day with Professor McGonagall.”

 

Still silent, she caught Severus’ pained look in Conrad’s direction. Hermione squeezed Severus’ hand in her own in an attempt at reassurance, and said, “Don’t worry. You’ve faced down much worse than my muggle parents. You’ll be fine! We will be fine.” She gave him her brightest, most encouraging smile that she reserved for her favorite people, hoping that some of that energy would transfer. He did look dreadful, like he might be sick too.

 

Conrad started to cough again, and Hermione, apparently the only one still carrying the conversational burden here, exclaimed, “Really, I think you should go and see Madam Pomfrey, Conrad. That cough isn’t going to get better on its own.” The man had his hand clamped over his mouth and she could see his chest shuddering against the suppressing control he must have been exerting to keep himself from breaking out into another hacking paroxysm.

 

Waving his free hand in benediction, Conrad said, “I’ll think about it, sweetling. If you are, “ He coughed again, “If you are quite certain. Go have a lovely time with your parents. We’ll talk again later this weekend, I’m sure.”

 

Hermione waved to Conrad and gathered up her coat, saying, “Sure thing, Connie. Have a lovely evening.” With that she towed an uncharacteristically silent Severus Snape out of the room by his unresisting hand. She wasn’t about to be late: she wanted to make a good impression!   
  


* * *

 

Severus followed Hermione, letting her lead him by the hand down to the Entry Hall, where he mechanically helped Hermione on with her coat. He was very glad that there weren’t any students around. Hermione assumed that his distraction was chalked up purely to nerves. In reality his mind was working at the problem that he so foolishly created in giving her that particular gift without explanation because he was being a coward.

 

Well, at least she couldn’t reject his gesture if it had flown over her bushy head by about 2 miles.

 

Sexual education classes were left to the discretion of the Heads of House, something that he took seriously and usually found to be a source of entertainment. It hadn’t occurred to him what impact it might have if Minerva McGonagall was the one doing the education. Considering the students she had to work with, perhaps a conservative approach was warranted, so he should have known. He really should. Poppy Pomfrey wasn’t a prude, but she also didn’t get into the more exotic magical aspects of sexual congress with the students in her own practice, although he knew that she’d discuss contraception at length. Severus’ philosophy was that if he didn’t talk to them about it, they’d likely endanger themselves with blind exploration. It was impossible to cover absolutely everything, but he had an open door policy.

 

“You know you have nothing to be nervous about, Severus.” Hermione retained possession of his hand as they walked out to the gates. She hadn’t asked him to side along from the castle as she assumed he didn’t know where her parents lived.

 

They had fallen into a tense silence, Severus failing to keep up his end of the conversation, so it was enough to jerk him back into the present. “I’m sorry, Hermione.”

 

Coming to a halt, halfway down the hill, Hermione reached up, cupping his cheek in her small hand with a tenderness that gave him pause.  “Whatever happens tonight, it will be okay. I promise it will be okay, Severus.”

 

“I might have to remind you of that later, love.” His lips, traitorous lips, pulled up in a responding smile to the warmth that radiated from his girlfriend. He knew he didn’t deserve her, and a fresh wave of shame washed over him.

 

She snorted, and he suspected she could see something was off before she pulled him down and kissed him soundly. He felt bereft when she pulled back, eyes sparkling with secret promise.

 

On impulse he gathered her into a hug, lifting her off of her feet for a brief moment. The weight of her there, the warmth, the smell all brought home to him that this was real. She was his anchor. Well, at least as heavy as one. “Oof.” He set her back down lightly on her feet, and looked up at the sky as though he could read the time there on the face of the moon. “We should get going.”

 

Her fingers found his hand and intertwined with his own and they set off at a faster pace, each step taking him closer to his fate. Silently, he swore that he would be brave from here on out.   
  


* * *

 

The concerns that Hermione had about Severus’ behavior proved to be largely unfounded. She imagined that she could see him clearing his mind, reminding himself of the mission. Perhaps his experience as a double agent for so many years helped him, although that thought did put her on edge.

 

Severus was charming and kept his sarcastic wit in check. She was surprised when he entered into a lively discussion over football. Dad supported Chelsea, always had, and Severus was a Manchester United fan. She couldn’t believe her ears when some of the twang of what had to be his native accent slipped out. Never one to be intimidated by a patient or person’s looks, breeding, or background, Dad was fully engaged with Severus in mere minutes. Her mother was a different matter, so when Mum said they were out of wine, Dad jumped up, volunteering to go around to the shop and nominated Hermione as his co-pilot.

 

Jeanne asked Severus if he might help her in the kitchen, so all Hermione could do was exchange a look with him before both were pulled away. It was an obvious machination, a test. Hermione hoped they passed.

 

“I think the corner shop’s closed today, so we’ll go to the one on the other side of town.” Dad was driving at the speed limit and was humming under his breath. “So, Severus seems to be holding up so far.”

 

Hermione looked out the window, wincing at the first ten things that ran through her head, searching for a neutral enough reply that might not betray her fears. She settled on, “No doubt. I...”

 

Dad cut her off before he could get going, “I imagine a man who bore up under unspeakable torture and helped win the war against the most evil wizard in human memory will be able to handle your mother. I just hope he maintains a good humour about it.” He reached over and patted Hermione’s knee.   
  


* * *

 

Severus had been set to peeling and chopping veg and the work was familiar, safe. Jeanne was stiff, uncomfortable and he noticed that she had not really made much progress in her own preparations, tending a sauce on the burner with an occasional stir.

 

“Did Hermione ever mention how her Dad and I met?”

 

The sound of his knife against the cutting board was a regular tocking and did not change in speed as he answered, “Can’t say I recall.”

 

“We were in the Royal Army Dental Corp together. I had been trained up as a field nurse at first, but circumstances changed and I transferred to Dental school.”

 

The carrot under his hand was diced to specifications, so he set down the knife and turned his attention fully towards the woman. “Really?” He couldn’t think of much more to say, imagining that she was working her way around to some point that she felt important to make.

 

“Hugo went straight into the Dental Corp, you see. I had done a year’s work at Don Muang at that point, you see. I left in 1966.”

 

Severus’ mouth went dry but he remained silent. There was a pearl of understanding forming around the grit Jeanne had introduced. The sauce started to simmer behind her but she paid it no mind.

 

Jeanne’s eyes were the same shade as Hermione’s, a soft warm amber. “My point is, when my daughter returned home from your people’s  _fucking_ war, I could see what it did to her. She wasn’t a child, and she had sacrificed so much to protect  _us_. She showed me her scars, I held her through nightmares, I helped her as much as I could. She had the same look as the soldiers that I helped care for. The thing is,  _Professor_ , she was younger than any soldier drafted to serve. And I think we both know that she was in a way fighting that war from the moment she set foot in your  _school_.”  

 

Mind scrabbling for answers to this woman’s righteous diatribe, Severus found nothing he could say in his defense. Taking a step closer, he reached over and turned the burner off. The sauce was boiling but Jeanne had taken no notice.

 

Shifting to the side so she could still see him clearly as he loomed over her, Jeanne continued, “I realise that you were never in control of these events, but I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive Hogwarts for taking her away from us. For letting her get involved. Children should never have to fight wars,  _Professor._ ”

 

Severus stood two feet from Jeanne, straightening up to his full height, squaring his shoulders. Brave. Quietly, he said, “You are right. In an ideal world, we could completely protect innocents from evil.” His throat was tight, “I swear, Mrs Granger, that at every opportunity possible I protected all of the children under my care. Unfortunately your daughter is the best friend of Harry Potter. I dedicated my life to the preservation and protection of Harry and all of the children of my school, but because of the position I was in, I could not do so openly.”

 

Jeanne stared at him. His occlumentic shields were up, tight, reinforced on the front step before the Grangers answered the door. As a result he could not easily read what she was thinking or feeling, although he could imagine disgust and anger were prominent. To take those shields down now would be a massive mistake.

 

Images of how things might have been different if he had never taken the mark assaulted his mind. Thoughts spinning in a downward spiral, he struggled to articulate what needed to be said, his offering on the altar of Jeanne Granger’s ire.  A weight lay on his chest as heavy as the day he stood trial 7 years ago, facing those he wronged, the families of the survivors. He would have given himself up to the veil, and at the time the testimony that was given in his defense seemed worse to endure.

 

In a broken voice that he barely recognised as his own, he croaked, “I have held back nothing. I threw my magic, body and soul in the way of danger countless times, and it was never enough. It astounded me that I was forgiven for all I did, the decisions I made to ensure that the war would end. I have lived with these regrets for the past twenty five years, Mrs Granger.”

 

And it was true. Over the years, well-meaning people suggested he get a familiar; one that he only but lately followed. Setting aside the practical issues surrounding his indentured servitude, he always felt that he had more than enough company. His anguish, self-loathing, and guilt were ample companions, more faithful even than any dog. “I came to the conclusion that as much as I craved death, that I did not wish to meet a God who stood by and let children suffer. So I must go on living, paying penance in my own terms.” He sucked in a shuddering breath, and the weight on his chest shifted as he looked back at Hermione’s mother.

 

“I have no illusions, Mrs Granger. I do not deserve your daughter. She is relentlessly innocent, a fount of virtue, always giving and keeping nothing for herself. I will not turn her away, although I did try at first. For some reason she believes that I may make her happy.”

 

Jeanne’s face was lined with her own pain, and she opened a drawer, fishing out a pack of cigarettes. “Come out onto the back porch, Severus.”

 

Ambient noise from a nearby byway broke the silence, and Jeanne perched on the back step. When Severus joined her, she shook out two fags and offered him one, which he took with a silent nod of thanks. Flicking a plastic lighter into life, she lit her own and shared it’s flame.

 

Gesturing to the spot next to her, she spat out, “Sit.” It wasn’t an invitation, it was a command. Having no reason not to, Severus lowered himself to the cold wood. He was tempted to cast a warming charm, but he had no wish to linger out of doors.

 

Minutes ticked by, and Jeanne puffed on her cigarette. Finally she said, “Hermione was a surprise, a gift when Hugo and I had all but given up on having children. It was not easy for us to send her away to Hogwarts, not knowing what she was facing. Professor McGonagall visited us in the weeks leading up to Hermione’s departure, but it was hard to let go. Eleven is so young, but magical talent must be something like learning an instrument, or a new language I imagine, so it would not do to wait too long. So we chose to trust in our daughter’s good sense. We allowed her to leave our influence and our protection.” A wave of her hand sent ash along the faint breeze. “That decision is in the past, it is done.”

 

Severus listened to the woman, rapt. The smoke was clearing his head at least. Muggle medicine, of a kind.

 

Jeanne went on, the words dragged out of her. “She isn’t a child any longer, as my husband has pointed out to me repeatedly this week. But he is right, it is not for us to dictate to her with whom or in what way she will be happiest. I speak for Hugo in this as well, we trust our daughter. If she chooses you, then that is that.”

 

A wave of dizziness washed over Severus. Awareness of his heartbeat hammered at him, shattering rational thought. Sweat beaded up on his forehead, and the cigarette in his hand shook as though he were in the throws of his own personal earthquake, knocking embers free. “Merlin, no.. not now.” He dropped the cigarette and stubbed it out quickly. He had to move.

 

The woman next to him put a hand on his back, “Severus? Son?”

 

Severus held up a hand, warding off questions and attention. He was going to die. It had found him, whatever it was, and this would be his last breath, or the next to last one. He stood up abruptly and started down the steps, giving in to his primal urge to run. He made it two steps away when the bile rose in his throat, a split second warning before he vomited in the patch of grass most proximal. He was grateful for the privacy of darkness and shadow in that moment.

 

As though he had rid himself of some unknown poison, he began to feel better. The feeling of imminent doom receded, like a veil being pulled away from his mind. He was left trembling, taking deep shuddering breath after breath. This time, he would live.

 

Cool hands brushed against his skin, pulling back the curtain of sweat-heavy hair from his face. He knew logically that it was December and that it was freezing, but the chill helped to sharpen his thoughts. “I apologize, Mrs Granger.”

 

“Jeanne.” Her hand gripped his shoulder, shaking it slightly. “And don’t. I’m going to get you a glass of water and a towel. Are you alright here?”

 

He nodded, closing his eyes, not ready to face Hermione’s mother just yet. He digested what just happened as Jeanne’s footsteps thumped up the stair, the kitchen door slamming with a resonating twang.

 

Before she returned, he managed to unship his wand from his sleeve and vanished the puddle of sick. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to wring out what he could, but his hands came away slick with sweat. He accepted the glass of cold water from Mrs Granger..  _Jeanne,_ gratefully, and she followed it with a towel and the command, “Go sit on the steps.”

 

Not having recovered the energy just yet to protest, Severus did as he was told. “Budge down one, sir.” She had the no-nonsense tone that Poppy Pomfrey might use with him, and it worked.

 

“Hold still.” That was all the warning he received before she started to drag a comb through his hair. She was brisk, business like and the sensation was not altogether distasteful. In fact, it was rather relaxing, and he almost missed the faint squeak of the back door opening once more.

 

That dear voice pierced his trance. “Mum, are you actually braiding Severus’ hair?”

 

A puff of laughter sent goosebumps down his spine as Mrs Granger answered. “And what of it, if I were?” He could feel her clever fingers twisting, and heard the dull snap of an elastic band settling into place.

 

A matter of fact smack on his back indicated completion of the ritual and he turned, finding the stunned expressions on Hermione and Hugo’s faces altogether unsettling. Did he really look that ridiculous?

 

Hugo rescued him. “Jeanne. Smoking again? I can’t believe it. Where did you get those?” The rather familiar scowl looked out of place on the man’s features. That was where Hermione inherited that trait.

 

Having the grace to look embarrassed, Jeanne mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Tesco.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Look, I’ll throw them away after tonight, okay?”

 

Shaking his head, Hugo opened the door for his wife, bidding her back inside. He explained over his shoulder, “She quit smoking in 1969.” The cadences of gentle spousal discord spilled through the crack in the door after it swung shut.

 

He was still seated on the step and passed a hand over his face, willing the remains of the panic attack away. He did not want to distress Hermione or to have to explain.

 

A faint giggle reoriented him and he looked up. Hermione’s eyes twinkled in the spare light from the kitchen. “She found one of my old bobbles. Didn’t realise she still kept those.” He hadn’t the faintest idea of what she was talking about, but at that moment, he didn’t particularly care. She could be nattering on about the misguided writings of the American potioneer, Doc Pemberton and it wouldn’t bother him.

 

Whatever it was that Mrs Granger, Jeanne, had put him through, he had a feeling that he’d passed. Hermione held out a hand to him, and he levered himself up into a standing position at the bottom of the stair. She turned him about and climbed the step, looked at him speculatively, and then edged up another. Her face now was slightly above his own. Her free hand reached out and gripped his chin and she tipped his head upward towards her. She lowered her face towards his, and then halted abruptly. Her voice was admonishing, “Severus Snape! Don’t tell me you brought those cigarettes?” She was very close, and he could smell the mint of her toothpaste.

 

“No, I didn’t. But it seemed impolite to refuse at the time.”

 

“Hmmph.”

 

Severus pushed up on his toes and crossed the remaining distance between them, kissing her with renewed purpose. It wasn’t a passionate kiss like the one from the other night, nor the perfunctory one of yesterday, coming somewhere in between. Her warmth electrified him, and he willed her to understand that she was loved.

 

He did not protest when she pulled away, wrinkling her nose. “I hope you understand, but I don’t like smoking, or smokers. Your breath is vile, Severus.”

 

“You don’t pull your punches, do you?”

 

Hermione reached down and gripped his hand, unrepentant. “You’d rather I lie? I like that even less than smoking.”

 

“Peace, Hermione. I don’t smoke often. Shouldn’t we get back in there? I think your Mother broke the sauce.” He climbed the short stair, reaching behind Hermione to pull the door open.

 

Hermione looked at him. “And you wouldn’t know anything about how that happened, would you? No, I know. Dad and I picked up curry on the way home. He had this feeling that dinner was going to be a total loss. Might have a bit of seer in him, at least when it comes to Mum.”

 

The woman that sat across from Severus at the dinner table that night was very different to the one who had greeted them hours ago. She smiled and was engaging, openly laughing as they described the mistletoe contest and its conclusion. Dessert was already made and Severus was given a generous portion of trifle, which he polished off. The queasiness of earlier had passed entirely, thankfully.

 

As the hour grew late, and Hermione made their excuses, Hugo and Jeanne turned the full force of their considerable attention back to Severus.

 

Shaking hands, Hugo started the goodbyes. “We’ve enjoyed your company, Severus.” Hugo’s pleasant smile faltered as he looked back at his daughter. “Watch over our daughter.”

 

Severus nodded assent, but before he could say anything, Hermione groaned, “Daaaad.”

 

Jeanne laughed, adding her two knuts worth. “Watch over each other. Come back and see us soon.” She leaned forwards and kissed Hermione on the cheek. Turning to Severus she frowned, “She’s right, you are too tall. Bend your head.” Her tone had returned to that of a firm commander.

 

Startled, and unwilling to find out what would happen if he refused, Severus received a peck on the cheek of his own from Jeanne while Hermione hugged her Dad.

 

Noticing the exchange, Hugo quipped, “Oi, where’s mine?” Both women laughed in surprise at Hugo’s bold joke.

 

Already straightening, Severus leveled a flat look at Hugo and as the man chuckled, he could tell that Hugo understood him loud and clear. “Never you mind. Save your tender kisses for my daughter, there’s a good man.”

 

Hermione tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and one look at her happy face, flushed with pleasure at the success of the evening, was enough to let that go without retort. A cold pit sat in his stomach, however. He wasn’t a good man, and Jeanne had brought back to him full awareness of the magnitude of what he had done in the name of the Greater Good. He couldn’t help but feel like an interloper, a fraud, in this happy family. How long before things fell apart?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New material for Twelve Days will start after this Chapter. Thanks for everyone's indulgence.


	8. Cadenza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a labour of love both for me and the wonderful [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked). I'd like to dedicate it to the memory of Alan Rickman, and in particular the voice he lent to give Severus Snape life. 
> 
> I hope everyone is having a Happy Christmas. Especially [Coromandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel/pseuds/Coromandel).

Hermione was dying to know what had transpired between Severus and her mother, certain that it was of some import. The change in her mother’s behaviour would have clued Hermione in, but to find the man placidly sitting while her mother braided his hair demanded explanation. 

 

She said, “I don’t feel ready to head back yet. Do you mind if we go for a walk?” Both had heavy coats on and the night air was bracing with a rare clear sky overhead. 

 

Severus laid a hand possessively over hers, politely inquiring. “Beach, park, forest path? Moonlit heath?” 

 

Hermione shrugged. “Anything but the beach. It is too cold to take my shoes off.” She gasped, surprised when he swung her into a shadowed alley between two houses. She only had enough time to process the proximity of him before he pulled her close and without ceremony he twisted with her into the space between thought and reality. He spun her out and onto the deserted square of what looked to be a small town. 

 

Hermione squeaked, “Warn a girl, why don’t you?!” She pulled back, fixing him with her best glare, one from the pages of her mother’s book. What she saw on Severus’ face pulled the mischief out of her. “Severus?” 

 

She had been sure that he had done well but he wasn’t himself, and if she didn’t know better she’d say he had seen a ghost. He hadn’t answered her yet, which worried her further still. She looked up and down the street, trying to guess where they were. She spotted a bench by the fountain and made a decision. “I think we should sit down.” 

 

As she pulled away, she thought she heard a low whine. “Come here.” She tugged at his hand and he lurched into motion, following her. 

 

Walking helped her think and her brain was picking away at the knot of Severus’ confusing behavior. She steered him into a sitting position then rummaged in her beaded bag, a moment later producing an oil lamp from its depths. The warm light flickered into being and afforded her a better view. “Talk. What happened to you?” 

 

She waited. Patience was not her strongest suit, but she could tell it was necessary. 

 

“Your mother. Is she part boggart?” It had been meant as a clever joke, but sounded too close to home. 

 

Instead of lightening her mood, Hermione found the quip chilling. In fact, that was why he was cold. Detached. A million miles away. A bud of suspicion began to open. “What happens when you abuse mind magics?” 

 

Severus’ eyes slid away from her,  “I didn’t use magic on your mother, Hermione.” 

 

Huffing, Hermione answered readily. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. You’ve shut down. I can barely see you.” She put a hand on his leg, willing him to understand and answer. “What happened? What is going on in there?” 

 

Voice strained as though he were labouring under a great deal of pressure, “Too much to explain, so I’ll summarize. Shields are at their breaking point, things are threatening to boil over. I can’t hold it in much longer.” Before she could say anything he asked- no, begged, “You have some training in occlumency. Put up your shields.” 

 

She squeezed his hand, “Severus. I’m not afraid…”  A wave of pure emotion washed over her, fear combined with desperation set her hairs on end all at once. 

 

“Do it. Now!”  He stood and staggered several feet away, hands clutching at his head. 

 

Something told her not to argue so Hermione shut her eyes and went through her exercises. By the time she was finished, she experienced an abrupt change in her anxiety. “Okay. Done.” 

 

With a pained groan, he dropped to his knees. Hermione gasped in shock in response to a forceful maelstrom of emotion that assaulted her shield. The darkness of the square grew darker, despite the clear sky and starlight remaining the same, and at the center of it was Severus. She summoned a bluebell flame in her hand and held it up, trying to see what was happening. Roiling smoke swirled around her and she took a step back. She could make out shapes within the morass, moving with the terrible grace of predators. 

 

Severus groaned, heaving out, “Hermione, GO!” 

 

Hermione stood up, casting the flame onto the bench behind her. Leaving was out of the question. Shaking her head she lifted her wand into the air and cast a muggle repellant charm around them. She wasn’t sure where they were, but it would not do to be seen. 

 

She did a lot of research on elemental magics over the years, part of her Ancient Rune coursework at Durmstrang. British wizards were notoriously skeptical of the wild magicks, discounting them as crude, barbaric practices. Air magick was aligned with the mind and Hermione suspected that Severus had mastered it much farther than any other wizard she knew. Fire was her own talent, and she had discovered magic associated with it came naturally to her. 

 

The emotional forces swirling around her and the square seemed to be organising, getting stronger. No, she must act. Closing her eyes she examined the problem, weighed the options. 

 

Something that looked like a wolf reared out of the cloud before diving back down, one of a pack of fell phantoms. “Severus. Listen to me.” She was shouting, trying to be heard over the emotional din. “You’re tearing yourself apart.” Her throat closed and her voice hitched as it hit home that she was speaking absolute truth. 

 

“Damn you, witch. You don’t know what you are dealing with!” He turned his head and his profile was briefly visible, contorted into a sneer. “You never did listen.” His arm lifted and one of the shapes formed itself around it, its serpentine head held fast in his fist. He snarled, lowly, “So be it.”

 

She dipped into her memories and found the one of that passionate kiss they shared under the mistletoe, and another of the joyous waltz they shared the night of the Yule Ball. Holding them in stark detail in her mind, she focused on the heated passion they’d shared. She fed it, inflated it with her love. “ _ Kaléste ton yperaspistí mou _ _! _ ”  ** καλέστε τον υπερασπιστή μου

 

A great cat shot out of her wand, its fur bright with orange flame. It landed lightly on the ground before her, immediately assuming a predatory posture. Its head reared up and it loosed a hiss of warning.  “Come back to me, Severus. See my lovelight burning for you.” The spotted tail swung back and forth in agitation. 

 

Severus was getting to his feet, still wrestling the twisting mass of asp, which was trying to bite him. It was getting bigger. “I feel your fear, witch. That is the most rational of emotions. I give you one last warning. Go. I cannot be trusted in this frenzied state.” He was squinting, his face illuminated by the flames of her champion. 

 

“No. I won’t be sent away, Severus. You are my love and I will fight for you, even against you.” The great cat growled in challenge. Hermione focused, feeding the fire of her regard into her jaguar, bolstering the manifestation of her passion. 

 

With no further warning, Severus let the snake go. Waves of doubt assaulted her mind. A serpentine voice hissed in her head, “You aren’t prepared for this. You will leave eventually anyway. Better do it now, save yourself the pain. Save usssss the pain.”  

 

In the space between them her cat leapt into the air as the snake attempted to fly over its head to attack Hermione. The jaguar caught the viper in its great jaws just below the snake’s head and bore it down to the ground. In response, massive coils wrapped about the cat’s chest and began to squeeze, the force of skepticism attempting to extinguish the flame of her passion. 

 

“Doubt thou the stars are fire. Doubt thou the sun doth move. But never doubt my love.” Hermione poured her heart into the words, her fire flaring hotter. 

 

The snake in her cat’s grip redoubled its efforts, but the cat had pinned the middle coil down to the ground, one front paw gripping the front. Instead of squirming or trying to get away, the jaguar remained still, implacable, strangling the snake. She could see wisps of smoke start to rise from the places that the snake was in contact with her cat. It was burning. 

 

Severus growled, “Shakespeare? Stubborn swot of a Gryffindor!”

 

The growing certainty of success buoyed Hermione’s spirit, and like her cat strangling the snake, her own confidence burned doubt away. “That’s very original, Severus. Care to take another shot?” She watched the wizard, dark indeed, still enshrouded in what Hermione was beginning to suspect was his psychic pain, manifested by his powerful magic. 

 

Tension snapped and the snake could no longer maintain its form, breaking apart into pieces that burned away, its ashes scattered on the breeze. The cat shook its head free, loosing a yowl of triumph. 

 

An eerie mocking laughter assaulted her ears and wiped the smile off of Hermione’s face. It was unpleasant, grating, and inhuman. She took a reinforcing breath, steeling herself. Her jaguar began prowling in a tight circuit back and forth in front of her, it’s withers twitching in anticipation.  

 

Out of the black smoke prowled what at first looked like a starving dog, its ribs in sharp relief, but the hair standing up on end, the unusually large ears and foxlike snout gave lie to this impression. A new voice now, “He only wants you because of what you have that he does not. Friends, family, and recognition. Everyone knows how wonderful Hermione Granger is. The brightest witch of her age. Who wouldn’t want to be seen with the golden trio’s mastermind? He’d be using you.” 

Hermione’s heart froze as she saw a second hyena slink out of the evil fog. It cackled once, its tongue lolling as it circled to the left, the first already passing to her right. “You only want him for his power, for what he can teach you. You are using him.”

 

The great cat focused on the first hyena, hissing a warning. The hyena picked up its speed to a trot in response, drawing the jaguar’s attention away from the attack that was approaching its flank. 

 

Closing her eyes, Hermione searched her soul, her memories, shaking her head. “I want you Severus. I want to share my family with you. You deserve that recognition. I want you to have whatever it takes for you to be happy. Everything that I have is yours. It can’t be using me if I want to give you those things.” A wild animalistic bellow stole her breath and her eyes flew open, frantic to see what happened. 

 

She turned in time to see the first hyena’s broken body hit the ground, disappearing in flames. The second hyena had  its jaws sunk into her cat’s flank. Looking across the battlefield, Severus’ eyes were downcast and he was frowning, his hands fisted at his sides. 

 

The jaguar twisted and slammed the hyena’s head into the ground, startling it loose. Free, she leapt away to get some maneuvering space and rounded on the foul scavenger, roaring in defiance. 

 

Hermione took up her refrain once more, “I want you, Severus. I want us. This mutual admiration isn’t using one another if we give of ourselves freely.” She thought she could see a glimpse of the boy Severus once was. “I admire your brilliant mind, the things that you have learned and done, they are all part of you. You have invented new spells, and some of them are in common usage now. Do you understand how amazing you are?” 

 

Sneering, Severus responded, “So it is true. The bookworm desires me only for what she might learn from me. I knew it.” 

 

Stamping in frustration, Hermione shouted at him, “You willfully misunderstand me. You are as blinded by your own prejudices as you accused me of being over ten years ago. Your mind is only the beginning of your charms. You’ve a noble spirit, Severus, a heart that is wounded, true, but you are still capable of great kindness and love in spite all that you have suffered. Your soul is strong, and I love you for that too.” 

 

The hyena was scrambling, feigning injury, but taking an opportunity to snap and  get around the jaguar who no longer seemed very concerned. She strode confidently and batted the beast back with ease. 

 

“There is no reason to love a corrupted wizard such as myself. You would be better off with someone good. A Weasley, perhaps; there are spares.” Hermione’s fires burned hotter, fanned by anger at his attempt at rejection.  “I am broken in body and spirit. I don’t know if I can be the man you expect. I’m old, worn out. Scarred. You are merely infatuated, witch. It will pass.” 

 

Hermione watched the play of emotions over Severus’ face, but she knew he was breaking down. She concentrated on his voice, on the feeling that being near to him evoked. Her desire grew, fanning her fire hotter and hotter. “You make me burn. I want your companionship, your  _ love _ , your  _ sex _ . Make no mistake, I burn for all of you,  _ wizard _ .” 

 

An abrupt halt came to the battle, a screech of pain signalling the hyena’s defeat. In the interim, her jaguar had grown, and instead of glowing with orange and gold flames she was now burning white hot. It wasn’t the soothing light of a patronus. This was the fire of love at its most passionate. 

 

Severus’ eyes snapped up and his gaze bore into her. “Witch, you shouldn’t play with fire. You might get  _ burned _ .”  He took a deliberate step forward, and the cant of his hips made her heart skip a beat. Hermione was lightheaded as the next onslaught presented itself, prying at her shields, looking for cracks. He looked her up and down, the track of his gaze blazing a trail of desire. 

 

Something rubbed against her legs and she broke eye contact with Severus to find her jaguar looking up at her, tail swishing in clear agitation. Hermione licked her lips, finding her mouth dry. How long had her mouth been hanging open? Disconcerted she looked up in time to see a new creature emerging from the black mists, a cat of light-consuming darkness that began to pace towards her. Severus now stood only two yards away. So close. Unable to restrain her curiosity, she stole a glance at his pants and an involuntary “Oh” dropped out of her mouth. He was magnificent in his arousal, and she wasn’t certain what she was going to do. In fact she had no idea. 

 

The panther started to purr lowly, its deep thrumming notes rising and falling in a sensual rhythm. A second, higher purr joined the first. In Hermione’s peripheral vision she could see her jaguar backing away from the panther, her ears flattening before flicking forwards in indecision. She was fighting the charms of the panther more valiantly than Hermione was Severus’.

 

“The things I want to do to you, witch. I want to know every _ inch  _ of you, every quirk, every kink. I plan on making you mine in every way. You’ll never want to look at another wizard again. I alone will be able to satisfy you.”  A wicked smile promised her everything she dreamt of as he went on, “Your innocence is only the beginning of your charms. Yield, Hermione.” 

 

Hermione stopped breathing for a long moment. Her body was screaming yes, but her head knew something wasn’t right. Clutching her wand, she shook her head and forced herself to go on, to resist. “Not like this, Severus. This isn’t really what you want. You are cloaked in darkness. Show me your light.” 

 

Taking a step to the side, Severus shook his head, causing the braid put in by Hermione’s Mum to shift into view, draping over his shoulder. Hermione’s eye was diverted by the swing of the black plait. What was that there? At the end... 

 

Severus went on, taking another step towards her. His voice was rich and deep, like black velvet; it made her weak in the knees. “You are drawn to the darkness in me, it is seductive. I can help you plumb its depths. Just imagine all of the wickedly wonderful things I can do with you, to you. I am impressed by your modesty, love, but I think it is time you gave in.” His eyes were hooded, glinting as he purred, “Come here.” 

 

Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the pink bobble at the end of Severus’ plait. It was so out of place on that tall drink of smouldering man that before she could consider it fully, she giggled. With that giggle, tension drained from her belly, although the desire was still a conflagration in her core, its insistence turned down a notch. The stunned look on his face made her giggle again, and when he continued to stare, she couldn’t help but lean back her head in a full belly laugh. 

 

Next to her, the jaguar flopped down on the flagstones, turning her head away from the panther whose ears were back, entirely flat on his head, his teeth bared in irritation. 

 

“You… find this funny? This  _ amuses  _ you, witch?” Severus took a step back, his brow knitting together, the black mist roiling in agitation about him. He ground out, “You are just like all of the others.” Turning his back on her, he twitched his wandhand and the panther started to swell, yowling a blood-curdling scream of mingled pain and fury. 

 

She stopped laughing immediately. “Fuck. Severus, no. My mum, she..” 

 

He swirled back around to face her, “Thinks I’m an evil man. That I enjoyed my time as a death eater. That I’m no better than Albus for letting her precious daughter fight in the war, to come back from the front ill and heart-wounded. She holds me responsible.” He held his head high, as if daring her to contradict him. 

 

An ice cold chill swept down Hermione’s spine. That’s what mum did: she’d interrogated him about his part in the war, questioned him. Made him explain himself. “She had no right, Severus. No right at all, it was my choice to help Harry. I’m sorry…” She reached out towards him, beseeching. 

 

Saying that name was like flashing a red cape in front of the bull. “And yet she did. That’s what everyone believes, Hermione. Precious Potter was the one who won this war. I’m the one who escaped punishment, slipping away from paying for my sins.” Rage contorted his voice and he was shaking from head to toe, “They don’t know how powerful I am; of my full capacity they know little. I could have ruled this country, Hermione. I’m smarter that Tom ever was, and I am not afraid of my own death.” He was breathing heavily now, “I deserved better than those fools at the Wizengamot ever would admit. My loyalty to the light was tested constantly, Hermione.  _ Constantly _ . That last terrible year, I was utterly alone. Do you know who treated me with any measure of kindness? Who valued me above all others?” 

 

As Severus spoke his anger built, and the panther changed into a huge shaggy bear. It reared up and growled, lunging at her jaguar who seemed to have shrunken in the interim of Hermione’s inattention. The spotted cat darted out of the way of the lumbering beast, growling. 

 

Hermione’s mind went back to that night, the battle, and that cruel voice whispered out of the past,  _ “You have been a good and faithful servant to me Severus, but only I can live forever.”  _ Voldemort’s last words to Severus were an apology. _ “I regret it.” _ She was shaking her head, “No! Severus! He intended to sacrifice you, he wanted you dead!” 

 

The jaguar made a lunge at the bear, a desperate attack, meant to wound and slow the bear down. They were grossly mismatched in weights, but by speed the cat had the advantage. 

 

Severus spat, “He was too stupid to have thought it through. If he had any sense he would have taken my counsel, but fool that I am, I still believed in the light. I defied him to my last breath for all of the good it did me.” He shouted, “And you just had to save me. I didn’t want to live!” 

 

Hermione staggered backwards, shaking her head in vehement denial. The shadow bear growled, seeming to let the cat get into its defenses, but it was a trap. The jaguar was thrown into the air, deep wounds gouged into her flank. It bled light onto the stone of the square. The bear turned on Hermione, now left defenseless.

 

The black mists grew again, clinging to Severus like a cloak. “I wanted Lily to live; that was denied me. I wanted some recognition for my part in the war; it was given to me but only as a favor to Harry Potter, cheapening it. I wanted the peace of death, and you denied me even that!” Waves of anger beat at Hermione’s shields and she stepped backwards, overwhelmed and robbed of speech. Did he really hate her for saving him? 

 

The bear broke into a canter and launched itself at Hermione and she only had a moment to raise her hands in defense as the creature knocked her on her back. As her head hit the stone of the court she cried out, and her occlumentic shield shattered.  

 

Stars bloomed in her vision, confusing her as the bear had blocked out the sky with its negative light. The glow of her great cat approached, but Hermione was certain it was too late, too weak to do more than delay the inevitable. The sheer ridiculousness of the single fatal mistake overwhelmed her as she waited for death, and she started to weep bitterly. “Fuck that bobble.”    
  


 

* * *

 

Severus was in deep, high on the power of his own anger. This silly witch was no different after all. He’d never have a chance at happiness if Hermione Granger couldn’t return his love. Well, if he couldn’t be happy, why should he care about anything? He watched in sick fascination as his bear turned its attention on to the witch. She was so clever, so lucky in life. Let’s see her get out of this. 

 

Her jaguar was an interesting construction and he’d have to study it later. Elemental magics were something that were emphasised at Durmstrang, and it was new to him. The cat pulled itself to its feet, and trailing its light force, dripping molten fire, she limped towards her mistress. As the bear started to run at Hermione, the cat looked reproachfully at Severus. Its eyes weren’t mortal; they possessed an infinite depth that demanded his attention, he could not look away. A snippet of memory was pulled to the forefront of his mind and it was from Hermione’s perspective: the Yule Ball as they danced over the heads of the rest of the fools. His own voice sounded in his ears, “I’ll never let you fall.” 

 

He understood then that the cat was built on that memory, fueled by the fire of her love that burned bright for him, his love returned and amplified. She loved him. She was in danger because of him, and she loved him! 

 

Too late to stop the bear from attacking, a shout of grief was ripped from Severus as he watched it tumble his Hermione to the ground. Hermione’s shields winked out, and her mind in its anguish was shouting something about a bobble. Looking down, he saw the pink plastic beads affixed to the end of his plait, the one that Hermione’s mum had put in after his panic attack earlier that evening.

 

The jaguar attacked the bear’s face, ripping at its eyes and enraging it further. His fault. 

 

This was his fault. He’d overreacted, was too blind to see, too quick to think the worst.  

 

He studied the huge shaggy construction and watched as it shrugged off the jaguar with a show of casual strength, before shouting to attract its attention. “Hey, ugly. Your real target isn’t the witch.” Flexing his fingers Severus prepared to battle the bear. He could do this. The bear turned and stepped away from Hermione. Severus heard Hermione’s confusion, a flicker of hope springing into life. He didn’t deserve forgiveness. He’d let her get hurt, for he could feel the pain in her mind. He didn’t really know what could have happened, she could have been killed. His fault. Because he couldn’t control his emotional magics he  _ failed  _ to protect her. 

 

A voice spoke to him out of the darkness, and he recognized it as his father’s,  _ “Worthless piece of crap for a son. Eileen, make him stop that uncanny staring or it’s your hide that will feel my belt!” _ Ah yes, another woman who suffered for his sins. His fault. His fault. He’d extinguished her heavenly light as carelessly as his father had beaten down his mother’s spirit. 

 

Tendrils of self-loathing reached out of the deepest darkness around him grabbing at his feet, his arms, pulling at him, slowing him down. Sharp pain lit up wherever the darkness grasped him. He looked down and was horrified to see restraining vines, studded with vicious thorns that pierced his flesh. The more he struggled, the tighter they pressed into his flesh. At least the beast was leaving Hermione be. He whispered, “I’m sorry, Hermione.” 

 

The bear changed, now taking on the visage of a hungry wolf. It stalked toward Severus, head down, flaming eyes fixed on him. Charity Burbage’s voice now spoke in his mind,  _ “We were friends, Severus. And you stood by and let me be tortured, killed. You deserve to be alone you cold sadistic bastard. I am glad you fucked up tonight, Hermione is better off alone. You’re your father’s get, through and through. Selfish filth.”   _

 

Severus felt his will to fight leave him. Lacking resistance, the vines pulled his arms wide, and his wand dropped from his nerveless fingers. The pain grew and he welcomed it. Maybe at last he could pay off his debts. He hated himself as he cried out, unsure if it was the thorns or the wolf who was ripping him apart.  
  


 

* * *

 

The jaguar lay, panting next to its mistress. Hermione was dazed, blinking up at the stars. A rough tongue pulled her back into focus. Her head hurt badly. She felt cautiously at the back of her head,  then found her fingers slick with blood, visible in the light shed by her fire spirit. She reached out to it, her trembling hand finding a rich soft ruff. Another lick of the creature’s tongue laved her cheek in heat and everything came back to her.

 

Scrambling to her feet, Hermione searched the darkness. It was the cry of anguish that helped her find him, suspended by evil looking thorny brambles that cruelly pierced his flesh. She whispered, “What happened to you, Severus?” 

 

From behind Severus’ figure a wolf appeared, licking its chops. A gravelly voice spoke in her mind, “ _ He has recalled his demons to feast on their Master. It won’t be long now, and I too will feast. _ ” 

 

Hermione raised her wand, renewed determination of purpose flaring to life within her. “No. I won’t allow that.” 

 

The wolf lowered its head, working its jaw in a grotesque approximation of a laugh.  _ “It is what he wills, Mistress. Did he not say he wished to die? _ ” The shadow creature turned its head. “ _ For what it is worth, Master regrets. Wizards never understand us until it is too late. _ ” 

 

A growl from beside her told Hermione that her jaguar was still with her. A glance told her that the creature was moving with more ease than before. She was burning brightly, strong as ever. 

 

The darkness tightened around her love, and all time for talk was over. “Stay out of my way, wolf.” 

 

Not waiting for an answer, her jaguar attacked, startling the wolf and setting it on the defensive. A satisfying yelp told her that the cat had struck first blood. Snarling and hissing mixed as the animals of shadow and lovelight attacked. The great cat was larger, but a shade slower. The wolf seemed to lack confidence, preferring only to nip when the cat came near. 

 

Hermione moved past the battle. She approached the black morass of shadow crawling over the wizard she loved and it made her shudder. She needed to get through to him, he was doing this to himself, he must stop.  

 

She wasn’t going to give up, no way no how. A voice whispered the answer that she already knew, “You can’t fight dark magick with light. You must use fire.” Later, when asked where that thought came from, Hermione would never be completely certain. Digging deeper than ever before, Hermione called on her magic. 

 

Blue flames leapt up around her, leaving the ground smoking as she walked forwards. She strode into the black cloud, and where she touched the shadow burned away. “This wizard is mine. I claim him. You may not touch him. Be gone!” 

 

The free mists melted back from her but the vines did not recede, and as she grew near, they appeared to become agitated, sinking deeper, as though they sought to send roots down into his bones. She reached out to touch him and the vines recoiled. He was suspended a foot above the ground, restrained hands bleeding, the rigor of vines pulling at him from every direction. 

 

“Nimue strengthen me.” Hermione stepped close to Severus and heedless of the whipping vines around him, brought him into a tight embrace of her own. She could only reach his waist, but it had to be enough. Waves of pain engulfed her at the contact, followed by despair and self loathing. She could feel Severus trying to pull back from her, as the vines were doing. She growled under her breath, “Mine, no I won’t let go. Back to the hell you came from.” 

 

Severus groaned, “Witch, let go.”  His eyes were cracked open the barest sliver. It was enough to see him, to get through. 

 

Holding him tighter, Hermione bit out, “Shut up, Severus. I have won this, and I claim you as my prize.” 

Pushing her forehead to his suspended chest, Hermione willed her fire to expand, to engulf them both. Severus’ weight was suddenly completely in her arms, but still he weakly pushed at her, trying to get away. He only succeeded in making them both tumble to the ground, and Hermione dragged herself up onto his chest, pinning him down. His clothes were tattered and he was bloodied, but she didn’t care.  

 

All she cared about was the feeling of his chest moving up and down as he continued to breathe, the thumping of his heart beneath her hand. Pulling her head up she crawled a little higher, trying to get a better look into his face. He stared back at her, the darkness of his eyes unfettered by the shadows that she’d seen there when they had left her parent’s home. Still straddling his chest she straightened and crossed her arms. “Well?” 

 

Severus lifted his head weakly, as though he might try to roll her off. His lids squeezed closed, as if to deny everything, then he looked again. “Not a dream.”

 

Hermione leant forwards and pressed down on his shoulder. Her face loomed close to his, and the flickering glow of her fire blazed a shade hotter. “I won. Say it. I think it fair.” 

 

“You win. Put the fire out, please.” He lifted his eyebrows, expression pained. 

 

Breaking into a brilliant smile, Hermione reached down and yanked on the bobble, loosing Severus’ hair. She let the fire dwindle, licks of it still leaping up from her skin. After showing Severus the offending pink thing, she crushed it in her hand and with a little concentration, turned it to ashes. The smell of burning plastic made her cough, and she could feel Severus’ chest ripple underneath her in quiet amusement. 

 

How that little laugh made Hermione’s heart burst with joy. She reached down, fingers tracing her love’s face, admiring the strong lines of his cheekbones and jaw. “Mine.” 

 

“Yours,” Severus agreed quietly. 

 

Slowly she bent forward to kiss him and miscalculated by a degree, her nose running straight into his. He turned his head to help correct her course, lips parting in another chuckle. She didn’t care, claiming a slow kiss. He tasted of wine and Severus. It was divine. 

 

She felt his hand creep up her knee, palm smooth, caressing her thigh. The sensation was new, wonderful and made her shiver all over. The cold winter air was returning to her now that she had willed her magical fires to burn out, the light was much dimmer too, and it was harder to see in the wake of the after-image that her jaguar had left, visible still when she closed her eyes. 

 

Clearing his throat, Severus said, “Hermione. Love. We should go home.” 

 

Hermione felt so alive. Severus’ clever fingers slid up her other thigh. Looking down she captured his hand in hers and brought it up to her face, leaning her cheek into it. “Let me enjoy this moment. Please, Severus.” 

 

“Love, your magic has carried you away. Come away home with me before you catch your death.” Severus’ free hand slid up her left thigh, and then up her hip meaningfully. Her unclothed hip. 

 

Eyes bulging, Hermione straightened up. “Fuck.” 

 

“Later.” 

 

Blushing, Hermione found that she still had her wand, she murmured, “Accio Severus’ wand. Accio beaded bag.” Both objects flew to her hand in rapid succession. 

 

Taking his wand from Hermione’s offering hand, Severus propped himself up on one elbow, watching her as she worked. They were only illuminated by the bluebell flame still perched obediently on the bench nearby. 

 

Hermione hadn’t moved and was still straddling his chest as she rummaged around in her bag. “Ah!” She pulled out a shift and pulled it over her head. A garment meant to be worn under something more elaborate, it was as plain and shapeless as it could be. Next she dragged out a blue cloak and pulled it around her shoulders. 

 

“Better?” She slid back an inch as Severus shifted under her, feeling better armed. His shirt was ripped and bloodied. His clothes were singed wherever she had touched him, and strips of cloth hung down from his sleeves. 

 

With a rueful smile, Severus answered honestly. “Not particularly. But at least modest now.” 

 

Shy, Hermione looked down at her hands. As if to herself she muttered. “Right. Bring boyfriend to meet the parents. Check. Win battle with boyfriend’s personal demons stirred up by my insensitive mother, claim boyfriend as my prize. Check. End up completely naked and on fire, literally. Cheeeeeck.” She was still blushing as she chirped brightly, “So what else would you like to do tonight?” She hadn’t risen up yet. Truth to tell, she rather enjoyed the feeling of him beneath her. 

 

Severus flopped back onto the pavement, the picture of lassitude. “We could just stay here, I suppose. What would you will, oh Queen of Sicily?” He cracked an eye at her. “Mind you, I can’t do anything else until you let me up.” 

 

Pouting, Hermione answered, “That’s not an answer. The walk is out, I suppose?” 

 

Lifting his head again, Severus sighed. “Hermione… I just almost destroyed the both of us. It will be all I can do to stand.” He flopped back down and looked rather pained at the admission. “Aren’t you tired?” 

 

Hermione giggled. “Probably. I think I’m still high off of the fire magic. I’ve never done quite so much in one sitting.” Looking around to be certain there weren’t any observers, Hermione shifted her weight before levering herself up on one hand, stashing her bag in an inner cloak pocket. Standing over Severus she could get a better view of the damage. Truly, he was a fantastic mess, laying there blinking owlishly back at her. Inspiration struck her, “Well, this won’t do. Winky?” 

 

A faint pop, more felt in the ear as a change in pressure than an actual sound, announced the presence of the house elf. She looked eerie in the flickering light of the bluebell flames. “Yes, Professor Granger.” 

 

Hermione gestured to her bedraggled prize, who had made no effort so far to get up. “Professor Snape needs assistance back to his rooms, although he is to take care of his wounds before he falls asleep. Will you see to it, Winky? Please?” 

 

Eager, Winky nodded rigorously. “Yes, Winky would be happy to help Headmaster Snape.” Her ears flapped in the breeze and Hermione thought she heard the tinkle of bells. Was she really here with bells on? 

 

A wave of consternation and embarrassment flowed up from Severus. It was rather weaker than what assaulted her earlier, but it reminded her that her shields were most definitely not up. “You can stop that right now, Severus. I will not allow you to hurt yourself any further this night. Pride or no. No one has to know what happened here, this is the only way.” She looked at the house elf with appeal, “Can you keep this a secret, Winky? For his sake?” 

 

More jingling accompanied the bobbing of the house elf’s head. “Oh yes, Professor Granger. Winky won’t say a thing.” 

 

Not feeling up to bending back down, Hermione looked at her love and meditated on just how much she cared for him, intent on sending him a mental caress. “Until the morrow, Severus.” 

 

Severus’ eyes were fixed on Hermione’s and she felt a warmth returned mixed with pain on parting as he said her name, “Hermione.” With that, he lifted up a hand and Winky grasped it, and both were gone from sight. 

 

Hermione cleaned up the mess left by their magical battle, mostly erasing burn marks and dismantling the muggle repulsion wards. She too was starting to feel the fatigue as she twisted into the space of between. By the time she made her way back to the Castle proper, she only had thoughts of the lovely feather bed that waited for her in her rooms. 

 

Peeves was knocking about in the Great Hall, busying himself with the candles nearest the door. Alive to his audience he whizzed over Hermione’s head. “Well well. Professor Granger, having a nice Christmas I hear. Fifth day was a surprise wasn’t it, wonder what will be the sixth. Sneaky ole Snapey.”

 

There wasn’t much one could do with Peeves, although he was a sight more pleasant to the staff than he ever was to students. “I have had a lovely Christmas so far, thank you Peeves.” There, not much for him to latch onto to work with. 

 

Leering, Peeves, “Ooooh, don’t I know it!” He cackled and spiralled about her before zipping back into the Great Hall. 

 

She continued her progress and was halfway up the staircase when the poltergeist’s voice floated back to her, amplified by the empty hall. “On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...”  She was humming along and wondered why the ghost paused. 

 

It must have been to take a deep breath because he belted out the rest, “FIVE GOLD COCKRINGS…”  

 

Hermione stumbled on the stair, her eyes wide in shock. “No… he didn’t...” 

 

Peeves forged on with the song, “four Collin Byrds, three French pens, two dragon gloves, and a tin of Partridge’s Pear Tea!” 

 

Reaching back to her ponytail, Hermione double tapped the ring, and it loosened, sliding off easily into her hand. The metal was still preternaturally warm and heavy, and as she hefted it in her hand her mind ratcheted back to earlier in the evening when Connie wanted her to do something different with her hair before they left. She let out a growl of irritation. “Conrad KNEW. They both KNEW!” 

 

The malicious cackling that filled the hall sharpened her focus. Head held high, Hermione strode away, disappearing to her own chambers to contemplate her revenge. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN:  
> * καλέστε τον υπερασπιστή μου, Greek. Means: Call my defender.  
> Please note that I do not speak Greek, and it is possible that I have failed to use the words properly.  
> 11/19/18 - Updated to correct what I believe to be the right type of cat for Hermione. Apologies!


	9. The Sixth Day of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, this would only make a fraction of the sense it does without the editing talents of [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked), friend of the semicolon and expert comma wrangler.

Severus awoke from a strange dream, aching all over. It was something about being pummeled by flowers, ones that should not have hurt nearly as much as they did. He was back in his bed, and the light angling in from the crack in his curtains suggested that it wasn’t much past dawn. Swinging his legs over the side of his bed, he stretched. His arms were marked with many pink lines, and he knew that his legs and hips would be as well. He rubbed at his belly with an absent minded touch and found it to still be tender there, in spite of the burn ointment he had applied prior to bed last night.

 

Ducking down, he pulled out today’s gift from under his bed. He hoped fervently that she would like the enchanted slippers. He must thank Conrad for contriving to lure Hermione into T&Ts, although the entertainment that was to be had at his expense probably more than amply paid  off that karmic balance.

 

Feeling optimistic, Severus penned a note to Hermione, inviting her on a special date that evening. Archimedes was already waiting for him on his perch, stretching his wings, and blinking, as if to say, “Well, get on with it, man!”

 

Adding a few more lines, he brought it to a close and secured his note to the box, taking it over to the waiting courier. His eagle owl was up to the task, but Severus placed a lightening charm on the box in case. It wouldn’t do to have the box dropped into the lake.

 

That done, he turned his mind to more mundane affairs and readied himself for the workday. Today was destined to be another day of hard labour, cleaning out the classroom. He had been through the stockrooms, so now he was to focus on the equipment. The elves were good hearted, hard workers, but they didn’t seem to understand all of the subtleties. He allowed them to help clean everything else, of course, and they could do the second wash after his first go around with all of the glassware. In darker times he might have looked for and found students to help him in this task, but in many ways now the work was a balm for his spirit.

 

Dressed in old white shirtsleeves and ratty black pants, he looked himself over in the mirror. After a moment’s hesitation, he passed over the silver hair tie from Hermione and tied his hair back in a black leather thong. Ramming his feet into workboots he trudged down to the great hall for breakfast.

 

Conrad was seated at the main table along with Minerva and ... good lord. Sybil? There was a seat left open next to Minerva. The other option, aside from being completely antisocial would be to sit next to the near-sighted seer.

 

Rolle spotted him first over his paper, “Ah, Severus. Good morning to you.” There was some sort of warning in the way he stared at him, eyes widening ever so slightly.

 

Severus’ morning ablutions had included, in addition to a hasty shower and shave, the reassertion of his mind disciplines. Therefore, he was not able to catch whatever it was that Conrad was trying to tell him.

 

“And you, Conrad.” He nodded curtly to the others in turn, “Headmistress, Sybil.” It was then that he noticed that Minerva looked as though she had sucked on a lemon. She was glaring at him, eyes narrowed. Angry.

 

“Severus. Sit.” The Headmistress tapped on the chair next to her. Sybil was looking pretty good now, actually. Pity.

 

Severus dropped into the chair, watching Minerva’s eye twitch. If she had turned that glare on anyone else, he might have found it vaguely comical. As it was, he kept his mouth shut and waited for the axe to fall.

 

The Headmistress spoke. “So. Is there anything you’d like to tell me, Severus?” That sounded rather like he was already tried and convicted in absentia.

 

His eyes raked the paper, wondering if there was anything in there. Did someone see what happened last night? Worse, did they photograph them in battle? The blood drained from his face. He’d taken them to a town he knew to be populated by labourers, no one would have been awake. Above the paper, Conrad’s head shook very slightly. A wave of gratitude washed over him and he took in a breath, ready to answer, although he had no idea of what to say.

 

Minerva cut him off, “I can see you have a guilty conscience, Severus. What in Merlin’s name were you thinking? To give Professor Granger such a gift, and then to blithely let her wear it as a hair ornament in ignorance?”

 

Severus swayed under the force of the admonition, “It was... an uncomfortable situation...”

 

Teaspoons leapt and cups sloshed over as the Headmistress’ fist banged the table to emphasize each word. “Of. Your. Own. Making. Severus!” Some of her hair came loose from her bun as she shouted. It was a loss of control that he hadn’t seen from her in quite some time.

 

He had no chance to get a word in edgewise as the angry woman forged on, “Worse, Professor Granger found out as I did, from the lips of Peeves.”

 

Severus’ heart shuddered to a halt. “Shite.” He closed his eyes, as though that might shut out the shame of it.

 

“I am ashamed of you, Severus Snape. 25 years I’ve known you and I’ve never seen you act in such a…” Minerva seemed to mull over options before spitting out, “... an inappropriate manner. If this had happened while school was in session I’d have hung you by your ears.”

  


Suppressing a groan, Severus looked at Minerva, as surely that wasn’t all she was going to say on the subject.

 

Minerva was turning her attention back to her breakfast, her fork stabbing at the egg on her plate, causing it to bleed yellow all over her sausage. “I have managed to place a hex on Peeves that should prevent him from repeating the lewd verses to anyone who may listen.” She looked back up at him gesturing with her fork, which flung the piece of egg into Trelawney’s hair. “I don’t know how you are going to make it up to Hermione, but you’d better think fast. Jewelry. Flowers. Poetry. You’re lucky you’ve retained all of your limbs so late in the day as it is.”

 

A spark of rebellion kindled in Severus’ chest. Sensing that the Headmistress was winding down now, he said, “You know, Minerva. I really think it is time that you revamp your House’s sexual education curriculum. I would be happy to lend you the notes that I’ve been using for the past fifteen years.”

 

Leaning away from Severus, Minerva glared at him. “Don’t you dare make this out to be MY fault.”

 

Realising that this is exactly what it sounded like, he held up a conciliatory hand and answered, “I only wish to point out, Minerva, that I cover these issues with all of my students by their sixth year as there is a high likelihood that they will be encountering spells, enchantments, and _items_ that could prove dangerous to the ignorant.” His eyes flashed, “Of course, perhaps you prefer the word innocent.”

 

Minerva worked her mouth up and down, looking like a trout. Severus arched a brow and summoned over two slices of toast and a rash of bacon. He could eat this on the move. He had some serious damage control to do.

 

“Why, I never…” The Headmistress spluttered.

 

Severus stood up, using his considerable height as a dramatic tool. “You never thought that your precious cub would get caught up with a Slytherin like me? It happens, Minerva. Knowledge is power. I prefer to send my students to battle their passions fully armed, you see.” He looked away, guessing at where Hermione might be right now. Library. He’d bet his eye teeth on it.

 

He drained a goblet of water, wincing as the cold hit his throat. Chancing a look at Conrad, he found himself to be the subject of a speculative look. No longer cowed, Severus met Conrad’s eyes and smirked before giving voice to his thoughts, “If you’ll excuse me, it appears I have a class to teach. Good day to you all.”

 

Not waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and walked out of the hall, taking a large bite out of his bacon butty. He could hear the Headmistress chiding, “Professor Rolle, get a hold of yourself! This isn’t funny!”

 

“Oh, yes it is, Minerva!” Conrad’s laughing voice carried across the empty chamber, “What I’d give to be a fly on the wall for that lesson.” With that, the blonde man broke down in cascades of unrestrained laughter, the kind that rob one’s breath and bring tears to the eyes.  


 

* * *

 

Hermione hadn’t rested on her laurels. She’d been to the library first, naturally, to see what she could find. Hogwarts possessed a surprisingly robust selection of reference material addressing magical sexual aids and enhancers. It took her longer than she expected to find the appropriate volumes as all of it was in the Restricted Section, behind an ageline. Perhaps the reason she hadn’t noticed it before was that the bulk of the selections were divided out into Professorially assigned extended reading lists. For this delicate subject there was one for each house.  A quick perusal revealed that there were startling differences in the curriculum set by the course master for each house.

 

Madam Pomfrey had been solely responsible for the meager curriculum offered to the Gryffindors, so that section was rather cold and clinical, with several excellent volumes detailing sexually transmitted jinxes as well as contraception.

 

The books set aside by Professor Sprout were extremely graphic in a disturbingly practical way, showing normal appearing people of all shapes and sizes getting it on with vigor. Hermione almost dropped the book when she flipped the page and was confronted with an abnormally large penis that rose up from the page. The caption read, “Practice placing the condom on the model until you are comfortable.”

 

Hermione darted a look around the room to assure that she was alone first, before lifting a single finger that gingerly poked at the ‘model.’  It sprung back, surprisingly pliant. She did it again. The thing made no sound, but she found herself whispering, “Boing!” Curious, she closed the book, and then opened it to the same page, and out sprung another erect cock, but she was fascinated to see that it was different than the previous one. The caption read, “Human, uncircumcised.” Brow knitting together, Hermione closed the book, and again checking to make sure no one else was observing her, she pulled the book open once more. This time, it was big enough that she whapped herself on the chin with it by accident. This one read, “Half giant.” Underneath someone had scrawled in, “Mind the fap.” Shutting her eyes against the image, she tried to deny the inevitable connection with Hagrid.

 

“Ugh. I’m pathetic.” That same dirty part of her mind flashed the fleeting glimpse of Severus’ own generous offering. She’d had to fill in the gaps with her imagination, but it was very much “up for the task.” She closed the book and bonked her forehead on it several times. “Stop. That. At. Once.”

 

Ears red, cheeks blazing with embarrassment, Hermione thumbed through the book to the next section. The next chapter featured a shockingly large model of the female anatomy. A slip of paper was stapled into the page sternly warning readers that they may only touch with their fingers, which was disturbing enough. Worse, the note went on to say that the book was hexed against meddling and overt familiarity with the model.

 

Shuddering, she flipped through the rest of the book and found a liberal selection of suggested charms and potions for lubrication. A frank discussion surrounding the subject of virginity and expectations for the first time on both sides of the aisle captured her interest. She skimmed through, finding it mirrored much of the intelligence that she already gathered.

 

A second volume attracted her attention on the Hufflepuff roster, one that delved into gender and sexuality. At first blush it appeared to be a rather dry text, suitable for a University course, but as she glanced through she noticed sections detailing potions, spells, and magical objects all intended to alter their user’s gender. Anecdotes about magical beings that seemed to lack gender were included as well as folklore about gender swapping. There was a note scrawled onto the front page directing the reader to come and discuss these issues in greater depth with Professor Rolle at any time, no questions asked. Hermione was surprised: given how bold Connie was, she had always assumed she was a Gryffindor.

 

It struck her how kind that was. And brave.

 

Professor Flitwick’s group was a rather inclusive multivolume Encyclopedia of World Sexual Customs. Initially the format intrigued Hermione as it followed an alphabetical organization scheme that appealed to her organised mind. Ten minutes later after following eleven separate, “See same subject under a different name,” entries, Hermione flipped to the introduction, looking for clues on how to use the book. Moments later she snarled, “Supercilious prig of a book!”It turned out that the books had been keyed to measure the level of sexual experience of the reader, and provided a guided selection of readings deemed appropriate by the Encyclopedia’s editors. Apparently even a dusty sex book in the shelves of Hogwarts thought it knew better than she did. She shoved the volume back onto the shelf in disgust.

 

Giving up on Ravenclaw’s reading list, Hermione hesitantly sought out the shelf that bore the books reserved for Professor Snape’s students. Frowning, Hermione cast a quick Specialis Revelio, and was glad she had. Several of the books were hexed, and she had no intention of giving away her clandestine perusal of Slytherin’s House recommended reading. Resentment seeded itself in her belly. Why had Professor McGonagall left everything to Poppy Pomfrey? Hermione sincerely doubted that the aging witch could remember the last time she had seen a willy for recreational purposes. Hermione felt her mood dip as she recognised that the mediwitch might well still be every bit as inexperienced as Hermione herself was.

 

Hermione navigated through the complicated tangle of hexes and enchantments laid on that last shelf before she found a volume on Magical Marital Aids. She didn’t expect much, the title was awfully stuffy and perhaps that is why she thought it might not be too dangerous for her. The book was stunningly illustrated, and boasted a wide variety of magical artifacts, potions, and charms. Each section included clear warnings on what to watch for with possible cursing or enchantments, and dangers in its intended use. This was the first place that she had found ‘cock ring’ with a robust, well written entry all of its own.  

 

Satisfied that she’d found the reference she needed, Hermione pulled over a stool and devoured the entry, start to finish, taking her time and weighing every point. She had plenty of time. It was five in the morning, and she needed to come to a decision on what to do.  


* * *

 

Severus stalked the aisles of the library, scouring the Restricted Section first and quartering the rest of the stacks when he failed to find her. Every book was in order, to his disgruntlement. Next, he checked the Ancient Runes classrooms, Transfiguration Hall, the Owlery, and the Astronomy tower. No Hermione. Inspiration struck, as he thought of other places she might be. He had a bone deep certainty that she was somewhere in the castle still.

 

He stalked up to the sixth floor and found the spot, walking past it three times, thinking of Hermione. A worn looking wood door appeared, the entrance to the Room of Requirement. With his heart leaping up into his throat in mingled hope and anxiety, he pulled the door open. Therein he found himself in a small room, lined with carts of Relationship Help Books, such as ‘Apologies for the Uninitiated,’ ‘What To Expect When She Has Expectations,’ and ‘Late Bloomer’s Guide to Romantic Repartee.’ Severus flipped through and determined that there was little therein that was beyond the usual advice: He should throw himself on her mercy at the earliest opportunity, apologise until she seems satisfied, take whatever abuse that is provoked without complaint, and for Merlin’s sake, man! Take care never to do anything so stupid again.  

 

On top of a pile of books of romantic poetry he found an address book of  useful contacts: chocolatiers who deliver by owl post, romantic magical getaway trips that looked promising, florists, and a jeweler’s catalog. There was even a listing for kneazle breeders of all things.

 

A quick survey of the other offerings included a trundle bed, a trunk with a ditty bag and a neatly folded change of clothes. Definitely no Hermione here.

 

As he turned to head back out to the Hallway, he noticed a small table positioned right by the door. It was draped in black and held a single slim volume: “Old Bachelor Homes for Dunderheaded Wizards: An Exhaustive Review.” He took care to steer clear of that one.

 

Severus spoke to the room, pocketing the address book as he did so. “Thank you for your assistance. Now I just need to find her.” The wall next to the door bled blurry color, like lines of tea on a paper napkin, which focused and sharpened into a line map of the castle. There upon it blossomed a little heart shaped icon made out of Hermione’s name, and it floated back and forth inside of his own office. She was there, waiting for him. “Right. Here I go… wish me luck.”

 

Letting himself out, he broke into a run, anxious to make it down to her before she gave up on him. Portraits lining the staircases murmured comments as he passed, shouting in surprise and concern. Severus waved them down without explanation in his haste.

 

Down in the Great Hall, Conrad sat with his tea, watching the ceiling for signs of the squall that was sure to come in spite of his equations predicting a perfectly clear morning.  


* * *

 

Professor Granger paced back and forth over the worn flagstone of Professor Snape’s cluttered office. Apparently you could take the Snape out of the dungeon, but you could not take the dungeon out of the Snape. She was angry, of course. Who wouldn’t be? But the fact of the matter was that she was mostly angry with herself. In her intellectual arrogance Hermione thought she had caught up with her wizarding brethren in all walks of magic, that she had cast off her muggleborn handicaps by hard study and observation. All it took was a romantic, albeit provocative, gesture by a real wizard misinterpreted as mere jewelry and two hours of research to open her eyes to a vast untapped body of knowledge that she’d not even dreamt about. She had only begun to plumb the breadth and depth of her own ignorance.

 

The humiliating part was not that Connie knew, or that she had worn the damned thing in front of her own parents. It was that her own failure of imagination was thrown back into her face, and it was announced to the castle at large by none other than Peeves. She had all night to think on what to do about Severus’ part and had come to a conclusion. Now all she had to do was wait.

 

Warm even through the back pocket of her jeans, the weight of the metal ring pulled at her attention. It thrilled her, fascinated her, pulled her beyond her own boundaries. Severus had been listening when she spoke about the qualities a good gift possesses. Even if she was furious with him, she still wanted to know him better.

 

She came to a stop by the wall of preserved specimens, closing her eyes and exerting control over her breathing. It had been difficult to sleep last night, and she was still cycling through a tumult of emotions, processing. After a moment, she opened her eyes to find herself eye to eye with what must have been a murtlap once, a rather large one. The wave of nausea hadn’t passed completely when she heard the door creak open behind her. Showtime.  


* * *

 

Snape cautiously opened the door to his office, uncertain as to what he would find. His shields were up once more, he had to spend a considerable amount of time meditating before he could fall asleep last night, and this morning it was a painstaking but necessary process to rebuild them. If he hadn’t almost killed the both of them with his instability, he’d have lowered them now. The ethics of such use of his passive receptive abilities had long since eluded him, but something told him that until Hermione gave him explicit permission, he’d best not yield to that particular temptation.

 

His resolve almost broke at once on seeing the sickened look on Hermione’s face when he entered. He had talked himself into believing that she might forgive him, that they’d be able to laugh about this. Last night’s unforgivable lapse of control was forgiven readily enough, was it not?

 

Not wishing for a silence to build up between them, Severus opened his mouth and began, “Hermione, I’m sorry.”

 

Hermione was dressed in her muggle clothes and her hair was pinned back away from her face, the heavy mass of curls trailing down her back. A telling  circular bulge in her back pocket drew his eye and it was a force of will to rip his eyes away from her tempting arse to bring them back to her face. Heat was high in her cheeks and a fire in her eyes as she held up a hand to stop him from going any further.

 

“There will be no foolish accusations or silly arguments in this relationship. As such, I don’t expect that any wizard has mastered the subtle science or exact art that is required to fully understand me.” She stepped toward him, “However, you…” She reached up and grabbed him by the collar, shaking him slightly, “... seem to have the predisposition.” The grip about his neck set the nerves under his healed wounds jangling with pain and confused pins and needles.

 

Severus felt light headed as she turned him about and pushed him into the chair he kept in front of his desk for visitors. Usually offending students. There was something familiar about the cadences in Hermione’s voice. Is this how she spoke to her class?

 

Before he could open his mouth to respond she released her grip, her eyes fixed and intent, capturing his own gaze and not letting go. Yes. He’d do anything to stay prisoner to this witch.

 

“You already know how to bewitch my mind and ensnare my senses.” She closed her eyes, and an alarming expression of pain crept onto her face. “I’ve been able to think of nothing else for days, and that’s without even touching your wand.”

 

Severus held his breath, waiting, as it was clear that she had not finished having her say.

 

“As wizards and heroes of the war, between the two of us we’ve seen enough of bloody fame, glory and death. We understand one another on a level that I doubt either of us could ever achieve with anyone else.” She lifted her eyes to his, a hardness creeping into her voice as she went on, “Then again, perhaps one of us suffers from overconfidence.”

 

Shit. Shit. Shit.  “Hermione, I… “

 

She cut off his breath with a sharp gesture of her hand, and Severus felt a hot breeze blow past, stirring his hair.

 

“You are not the usual... what word do you like to use...? Ah yes. Dunderhead. You are not the usual dunderheaded wizard I’ve had the misfortune to date. Why, Severus? Why would you allow me to cavort about with that in my hair? What did you think I’d do if you spoke up last night?” She growled, “ _Connie_ tried to warn me.”

 

It hit Severus then. The honest answer in its entirety. “I didn’t want to upset you before we went to meet your parents, Hermione. I was going to tell you after, but you know what happened there.” He flexed his wand hand, the livid pink scar there still aching like the rest of him. “Forgetting that, in a way, the ring was a sort of test. I wanted to give you more than flowers, pretty words, and humor, because those are pale shades compared to the full depth of what I feel. At the same time, I didn’t want to go too fast for you. So I slipped it onto the bouquet and waited for you to discover it. It was a cypher meant to fascinate and delight you.” His shoulders slumped, “I had no idea, no _notion,_ that you’d think it was meant for hair. And to have that particular conversation with you, to enlighten you as to what that was at that particular moment in time seemed impossibly foolish.” He sighed, “I _am_ frightened, Hermione.”

 

A glance up showed him that his witch - or he hoped she still was - was still very, very, _very_ angry. Cursing himself for being a fool who didn’t bother to lay down carpet, he slipped out of his chair and down onto one knee. He couldn’t look at her for this part, but he wouldn’t let things end on that admission. “I have been admiring you from afar since you took up the Ancient Runes post. When Remus Lupin declared you the brightest witch of your age, he only paid you a fraction of the recognition you came to deserve later. You are loyal, honest, and truly kind hearted. There are few people that understand my jokes, who are willing to get past my particularly prickly ways to meet me in a rational discussion. Your society has been a revelation, an oasis in the desert.”

 

He shook his head, “There aren’t many people, much less witches out there who have the strength of mind and the courage to push back.” He dry swallowed, taking her silence as an invitation to go on, “I know I am not much to look at. I’m old and broken down, and some days my moods render me completely unfit for polite society. Until I met you, I’d all but resigned myself to the life of an eternal bachelor.” The guide to Homes for Dunderheaded Bachelor Wizards flashed in his inner vision. “I dare to hope for more, with you.”

 

That cold stone floor was seeping its chill into his bones. “The very idea of losing your good regard frightens me more than the certainty of death. I am sorry, Hermione. Truly.” He reached out a hand, in supplication and was surprised when a smaller hand took it. Lifting his eyes to hers, he was quite alarmed to see tears streaking the witch’s face.  Hermione’s fingers spasmed in his hand, pulling up with insistence.

 

Severus stood up stiffly, lifting his other hand to brush away tears from Hermione’s face. She was a distressed mess and her nose looked like it was swelling, reddening like a tomato. He didn’t carry a handkerchief. He whispered, “Winky? Handkerchief please?” He reached down and felt a square of linen press into his left hand. “Thank you.” He swallowed and used it to mop her face. A moment’s hesitation preceded his attentions to that nose, but she released his hand to take over. She turned away, producing a sound that he imagined a lady-like elephant might use to call to the herd.

 

Winky was shifting a heavy tea-tray onto his desk and gifted Severus with a suspicious glare. “Is Headmaster wanting ought else?” Her tone suggested that she’d be willing to treat him toa bludger to his skull if only he’d ask nicely.

 

“Another fresh handkerchief, if you please. That will be all, Winky.”

 

Frowning at him in open disapproval, she produced another folded white square of linen and pressed it into his hand. With that she winked out.

 

Hermione took the fresh cloth, banishing hers with a perfunctory swish of her wand and muttered incantation. As she finished mopping herself off, Severus poured tea out for both of them. He appreciated the hint from the house elf, in spite of the side of guilt that came with it.  “Tea, Hermione? Just milk, if I recall?”

 

Her voice shaky, Hermione answered, “Oh yes, please. Lovely idea.”

 

As he handed her the cup, she said, “You know, I’m still angry with you.”

 

Severus’ heart sank lower. Somehow it had managed to creep back up into his chest from its former residence around his knees. Well, who was he to deny her that right? He took up the second cup, no additives. He’d developed a preference for straight tea* out of paranoia and never saw fit to change. “I understand.”

 

Visibly calmer, she hitched up a hip and perched on his desk. After taking a sip of tea, she delivered her challenge. “I will allow you to make amends tonight.”

 

Hope lent him wings to fly right into her web. “Of course. I thought we could go to this little place for dance lessons. They’ve a course, six classes in all. Secrets of Swaying.” It occurred to him that it was perhaps a selfish plan, as he wanted nothing more than to gather the little witch into his arms and swing her about until she was dizzy with delight.  “If that is agreeable? With dinner after?”

 

Hermione’s eyebrows lifted and her voice held an ironic edge, “That does sound appealing. I will of course attend with forgiveness in my heart but only on one condition.” Her eyes glinted with wicked intent and she slipped a hand into her back pocket.

 

Not finding a ready reply, Severus took a sip from his own cup, sluicing the hot astringent liquid in his mouth, waiting for her to expand upon her previous statement. Her next words left him coughing and sputtering.

 

“That you wear this the whole night, in its proper anatomic position, until I am satisfied that you have paid your penance.” She was holding up the cockring between thumb and forefinger.

 

After a good deal of clearing of his throat, Severus reached out to retrieve the offending object. Hooking two fingers through it, he recalled his earlier promise to fill in the gaps in the Gryffindor witch’s education. “All five rings, or did you have something specific in mind?”

 

Hermione released the ring, the warm weight of it comforting in his hand. “Five? I saw the dragons.” Her eyes widened, “There actually are five entirely separate rings?”

 

Unable to resist a bit of theatre he ran the ring over his knuckles as a muggle charlatan might a coin. The second time around, he twisted just so, causing each separate hoop to fly off to be caught by fingers on his other hand, where they adjusted to size. “Each has its own enchantment, its own use. As it was, only the red, the warming charm was active.” He held up his middle finger, showing her the red gem at the dragon’s eye.

 

Once again a student of sorts, Hermione was intensely attentive. Darting a glance up at him she uncurled her fingers to brush at the metal. “I noticed it was warm. Rather good idea.” Her eyes crinkled up at him in amusement, “Wouldn’t want you to be cold.” She tapped it, and the temperature increased.

 

Squinting at her he twisted the ring on his forefinger about to reveal the blue gem on it. “Careful. It could become too hot in here for decency.” A tap on the second ring activated it, cooling the metal against his finger. “This one is for coldplay.”

 

Bolder, Hermione didn’t hesitate before touching this time. “That is rather different.” She shivered, and the hairs on her arms were standing on end. Withdrawing her hand she looked up at him with wide eyes. “And people like that?” The unspoken more personal question hung in the air between them like the first snowflake of the season, crystalline and full of potential.

 

In answer, Severus reached out with that finger and traced Hermione’s jaw with the lightest touch. He could feel her tremble under him, so sensitive. “Yes.” He watched her process this from under hooded eyes.

 

He could barely hear her whisper, “Tell me more.”

 

“Green alters the taste. The black delays gratification.”

 

A succession of changes in her expressions as he spoke gave him a sense of her reaction. She licked her lips and turned away, disengaging in favor of retrieving her cup of tea. Disappointment crept in, and Severus sought to bring this back to a more intellectual level. “Chinese myth speaks of five demons who would seduce mortals in exchange for blessings. It is thought that a clever Chinese magical artificer was responsible for those stories, and it was each of these enchantments that allowed the man to become a sexual demon.”

 

Eyes shining with interest, Hermione asked, “And I am to believe that you have some skill, some mastery in the use of these rings?” She took a step closer and once again reached out to touch his ring-heavy left hand, holding it up before her, watching the air around his forefinger condense in a fog.

 

Finding his mouth unaccountably dry, Severus swallowed before answering. “I will not claim to be a master. An enthusiastic amateur, perhaps.”  

She tapped the green-eyed dragon on his ring finger. Holding his gaze she brought his hand closer to her face, sniffing the digit that now seemed to shimmer with shards of green light that winked in and out. Before his befuddled brain could respond, she tentatively licked the sensitive fingertip. Her tongue was warm and wet, and he watched as her lids lowered in appreciation. “Delicious.”

 

Before he could stop her, she took the finger more fully into her mouth and he found that he couldn’t breathe, much less talk.  His legs underneath him felt like rubber and he leaned back, using his desk to keep him from falling to his knees in front of this witch for a second time today. His free hand frantically clutched at the edge as the traitorous furniture scooted back half an inch under the clumsy force of his impact, but then held.  

 

Drawing it out, Hermione slowly released his finger with a popping sound as the seal broke. “I like that one.” She seemed to notice his general state of arousal all at once, her eyes darting down to the crotch of his trousers, where his erection was clearly visible. “Oh. Well.” Her eyes sparkled and he could tell that she wasn’t entirely sorry for teasing him.  

 

Severus breathed, regaining some control of his body. The witch’s touch was dizzying.

 

“And the white, what does it do?”

 

His voice sounded distant, alien to his ears as he heard himself answer. “Tickler, it vibrates.”

 

“And what did you say about the black again? I don’t think I caught that.”

 

Cracking under the intense pressure, Severus took his hand back before she could activate both. “It does exactly what I said. It changes specifically to delay satisfaction for the wearer as long as it is activated. It increases the intensity of the orgasm in the end.” As he spoke, he tapped each ring, deactivating them in turn, causing them to release into his waiting palm.

 

Tilting her head, Hermione’s concerned voice floated through. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

 

Rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, Severus took his time before answering. “Pain can be used to heighten pleasure, Hermione. In this case, the wearer can disengage or adjust at will, and all of the rings will shut down should the wearer lose consciousness.” He kept his gaze averted, jingling the rings in his right hand, rearranging them into the single ring that was presented to her yesterday morning. It felt like a fortnight passed in the interim, not a mere day.

 

The little witch stepped over to him and reached up, gripping his face in both of her soft, warm hands. She didn’t need to drag his eyes back to hers. Every sense he had was finely attuned, attending to her and her alone. The proximity was intoxicating. “Severus, you are not to allow yourself to come to serious harm tonight.”

 

A deep chuckle rumbled in his throat. “No stomach for pain?”

 

The fingers gripping his face tightened and her eyes narrowed in irritation. “Don’t mock me. Aren’t you in enough trouble as it is?”

 

Swallowing, Severus nodded, a single precise movement. “You are right, of course.”

 

Hermione’s blinding smile in response lifted his spirit as she patted the side of his face. “Good. I’m glad we could agree to that so early in the day.”

 

The corners of his lips curved up in response. Well, he would grant her that for today, and why not?

 

A line of tension appeared between her eyebrows before she said, “You know, sitting down you are still almost too tall.” She released his face and stepped closer, nudging his leg out of the way.

 

Severus stiffened, surprised as Hermione wrapped her arms around him. “Hermione?”

 

“Shut up, Severus. I need a hug.”

 

Understanding now, he returned her embrace, gathering her in as she nuzzled into his chest. He could feel the tension of her shoulders, the muscles of her back under his hands, and remorse seeped in. How had he gone so wrong so quickly? And why had he been so lucky as to be given a chance for forgiveness? He kept her tight with one arm and used the other hand to gently rub her back.

 

A hum of approval greeted his ministrations and he could feel her slowly unwind.

 

Naturally, her head tucked into the side of his neck, and he didn’t particularly care about the pricking of his scars from the weight. When she didn’t give any sign that she had any intention of pulling away, he dropped a kiss on the top of her curly head and allowed himself to simply be grateful in the moment. His heart was full.  

  


* * *

 

Downstairs in the Great Hall, faculty were trailing in for lunch. When the Headmistress entered she looked up at the ceiling and was surprised to see a bright, sunny sky more appropriate to June. Outside, it had been snowing all morning. Fluffy clouds floated past, and two swallows darted back and forth in a complicated aerial dance.

 

Within Minerva, hope shone as brightly. “Merlin and Nimue forfend. Someone’s happy.”

 

Connie walked up to Minerva and put an arm about her shoulder in a half-hug of shared mutual congratulation, also admiring the enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall. “Things are looking up.”  


* * *

 

Upstairs, Peeves was whizzing about the library, searching for shelves with loose books. He delighted in chaos and noise, so he was having a wonderful time knocking books over like dominoes. All the while he was rehearsing his new song, inspired by things overheard lurking in the gables of the Headmistress’ office.

 

_Snape’s nuts roasting on an open fire_

_Merlin’s beard, what a huge nose_

_Howlers rain down via owls for hire_

_Even I liked him better in witch’s robes_

 

_Nobody knows what they did under the mistletoe_

_Boy, that really ruined my night_

_Had to wash my eyes out with mint jello_

_I will still have nightmares tonight_

 

_I’ve heard that Potty’s on his way_

_His knickers’re in a twist, oy vey_

_Ronald Wheezer’s making plans to spy_

_To see if Granger can make ol’ batty cry_

 

_So I’m giving rare advice gratas_

_To any who’s breathing or in the loo_

_Snape’s mastery exceeds tangos and cha chas_

_I’d not mess with him if I was yooooou_

 

_NO, I’d not miss with him if I was yoooooooooou!_

 

CRASH! There went an entire row of volumes on magical history.  

 

Cackling, Peeves whizzed away, looking for another place to cause havoc.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Editorial Note: When I went back to review the manuscript with [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked), I noticed this scrawled in the margin. 
> 
> Feminine handwriting, in pencil: _Plus, as a drink rich in tannins, it would likely prevent absorption of some poisons._  
>  Pinched masculine handwriting, in red ink: I would not recommend relying on such a contingency.  
> Penciled, now impossibly small, required use of a magnifying glass to read: _Certainly not, but one must consider potentials when lacking a bezoar, and in pressing circumstances an astringent affect may prove useful, especially where alkaloids are responsible. I believe it has also been investigated with regards to certain snake venoms, and used traditionally against antimony and zinc. Naturally more specific treatments would be desirable, though it would be an interesting avenue to research, especially with regards to interacting with substances potentially slipped into said drink prior to consumption, and it might, perhaps, offer some first aid where it might otherwise be difficult to preserve life long enough for better treatment. Alas, suggestions in historical texts may remain little more, especially when volunteers to test things may be somewhat... unforthcoming._  
>  Red ink: What if I offered you extra credit, you insufferable swot? There was a time when that would have been enough to soak your knickers I think.  
> Pencil: _YOU are a git. Severus Snape is the most arrogant prat of a bull-pizzle that ever offended the halls of Hogwarts._  
>  Red ink was used to X-out Severus Snape's name and Gilderoy Lockhart overwrote it.  
> Red ink: Although Delores Umbridge I think may also be ahead of me in the queue for sullying the honor of the school faculty.  
> Pencil: _Fuck you._  
>  Red ink: I'll allow it if you consent to dinner first? At that place in Chelsea?  
> Pencil: _Unbelievable._  
>  Red ink: Be ready at eight, I'll come find you.  
> Pencil: _Wear the leather trousers and I might join you. Maybe._  
>  Red ink: Deal.


	10. Slippers to Sway In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Warning - Hermione has a flashback to the time when she was at the manor, under Greyback's pawings. While there was no rape I do consider her traumatized sufficiently. It is not graphic but it may trigger some readers all the same. Apologies. 
> 
> I know that we're beyond the actual twelve days of Christmas in reality land, but the celebration continues in our story. Thank [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) for the gift of well-edited prose. We hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Time Immemorial readers, my gears are getting back into motion. It will be some time yet but I no longer describe the work as 'at rest.'

The bell jingled on the door to the little dance studio as he ushered in Hermione. The sign on the door read, “The Moste Noble House of Danse.” Severus had obtained the recommendation from Minerva earlier in the week, but had never attended a class here. It was tucked into a business park in Tutshill, but catered to magical clientele. 

 

A large, bright room lined with mirrors greeted them. The warm tones of a hardwood floor reduced the glare of the fluorescent lights overhead, and in the far corner sat a grand piano with a gramophone on top. Central to the far wall was a full portrait of what one must assume by resemblance to be brother and sister. The boy was younger, a blond ingenu who looked to be about thirteen and was slouching over the body of a cello, and looking faintly peeved with his sister. The second subject was a slender woman with flashing dark eyes and black hair pinned up in a bun. The second was in profile, reclining on a bench, dressed in a simple ivory satin ballerina dress that you might have seen in the 1900s. She was looking down at her satin-tipped toes with an expression of ennui. Overhead a curtain of purple velvet complemented the ornate golden frame, drawn back to allow the painting to be viewed. 

 

Immediately to their right was a cluster of padded chairs, meant for students waiting their turn, or perhaps anxious mothers. 

 

A small cluster of people were situated around the piano. A boy was seated at the bench, practicing under the eye of two older women. One, a dark haired lady, sat on the bench beside the boy, nodding her head along with the simple tune as the boy slowly worked his way through, with the occasional missed beat as he looked down at the keyboard. 

 

A tall blonde woman stood next to the piano, but she spun to look over at the sound of the door closing behind them. Severus’ heart sank. He knew her the moment he saw her profile. Beside him a faint intake of breath told him Hermione recognised the proprietress as well.  

 

Narcissa Malfoy glided over, the picture of graciousness. “Ah, our newest pupils.” She was practically cooing. “Severus, I was pleasantly surprised to receive your message. It was  _ so kind _ of the Headmistress to recommend our studio.” She held out a hand for him to take and automatically he lifted it to his lips, grazing her knuckles with the barest of touches. Her hand squeezed his in response and was gone just as swiftly. 

 

Hermione spoke up as she shook Narcissa’s hand in a matter-of-fact single motion. “Hullo, Mrs Malfoy. Minerva recommended this place? Oh! Is that Teddy over there?” She stood on tiptoe as though that might increase her visual acuity. Severus was struck by the absurdity of the notion and cracked a smile in spite of his discomfiture at the unexpected meeting. As she looked back at him for confirmation, Hermione’s answering smile was warm and lovely. 

 

Unruffled, the tall pureblood witch inclined her head. After half a beat she answered, “Call me Narcissa, please. Or Madam Black, if you must. And yes, that’s my sister and nephew.” The cordial smile had dimmed as she spoke, and her eyes were troubled as she looked back at Severus. “I’m sure Teddy will be pleased to see you, Professor Granger.” 

 

Either she couldn’t wait to get away from Narcissa or she was quite able to read the subtle hint; Hermione flashed him another, more conscious smile before replying, “I’d like it if you would call me, Hermione, Madam Black. Please.” 

 

Narcissa’s eyes lifted in response, and she inclined her head in assent. “Of course.” 

 

“I’ll be over there,” Hermione’s small hand squeezed Severus’ arm, perhaps a sign of support moments before she departed. What an obvious statement. As if he had no eyes in his head. 

 

Left alone with Narcissa, Severus took his turn at pleasantries. “You look well, Narcissa. I didn’t know that you were teaching.” She certainly had not mentioned it over dinner a few days ago. 

 

The woman had always been rather astute, and her pointed face typically had an air of disapproval about it. The hardness in her eyes was still there, yet she was smiling once more. He had not seen her so relaxed since she was first wed to Lucius.  “Severus, you are not the only one who has secrets. I was pleasantly surprised to get your owl this week. So, Hermione Granger, golden girl and our Severus Snape? I have to say that article in the  _ Prophet  _ was a shock to all of us.” 

 

“To none more than myself, Narcissa.” 

 

The witch’s eyes narrowed in consideration. “All told, it isn’t the worst match. Good for you, politically. At least you don’t have any overbearing relatives vetting bloodlines. Does Lucius approve?”  

 

Severus stiffened. “I hardly think…” 

 

Narcissa cut off his protestation, “No of course. No one really cares what he thinks anymore, do they?” Her smile was frozen, and Severus contemplated a change in subject. 

 

After letting that painful truth hang in the air between them, Severus forged on. “So, Hermione already knows the waltz. I want to take her to a Masquerade on New Year’s Eve, if she’ll consent. So we’ll need a few more options.” 

 

A practised social partner, Narcissa accepted the change in conversational meter as easily as a professional dancer. “Foxtrot? Cha cha? Tango?” 

 

His traitorous cock roused itself at the last suggestion. He was momentarily grateful for the pleated plackets on his trousers as well as the jacket he had slung on. It was going to be very tricky to get through the lesson without embarrassing himself too badly, damn that ring. Damn that  _ woman _ . Green and black. Punishment mixed with tacit promise. It was already difficult enough. Hermione hadn’t demanded proof of his compliance, but as time went on she’d have evidence enough. Although, having Narcissa around might help keep things from getting overly heated. 

 

Misinterpreting his contemplative silence for indecision, Narcissa laughed. “Oh, surely it won’t be that bad. I am sure we will get you two in shape in time.” She turned away, regarding the slim curly-headed witch. Her voice drifted back to him. “I do think you’ll need to come back tomorrow, friend. She’s rough about the edges and will need practise. We have a group class tomorrow. It will be a fun  _ date. _ ” 

 

Taking the opportunity to stretch a bit, Severus reseated himself more comfortably for the inevitable expansion that his jewelry choice guaranteed. 

 

The crack of an unexpected apparition made Severus spin in the chair, his wand out, seeking the source. Damn. There stood the gormless and ever-irritating Harry Potter. “Am I late?” 

 

Narcissa was strangely flat as she answered. “Why, Auror Potter, what a  _ pleasant _ surprise.” 

 

Bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, Harry flashed an embarrassed, boyish smile. Did he ever shave? He was shaggy, and definitely not dressed for the occasion. “I keep telling you, ‘Harry’ will do just fine, Madam Black.” He acknowledged Severus with a curt nod, only meeting his gaze for the briefest of moments. He was up to something. “Professor Snape.” 

 

Unable to bring himself to address Harry in any other way, he ground out, “Potter.” 

 

Still looking the part of a student caught out of bounds at night, Harry twitched his jaw in the direction of the others. “I’ll just see myself over, then.” Not waiting for an answer, he strode off. 

 

Severus noted Narcissa’s pained expression as the boy trod across her gleaming, polished studio floor with his trainers. “Is he a frequent visitor?” 

 

A lift of the shoulder preceded her distracted reply, “He does come by to collect Teddy on occasion. I wasn’t aware that he had planned to come tonight. I’d have made alternate arrangements had I known.” 

 

Looking in the mirror, Severus intercepted a glance and a smile when Hermione thought to check on him. Having so many reflective surfaces was disorienting. “No need to concern yourself. I understand how difficult it is to deal with Potter, especially a well-meaning one.” He watched as Hermione exclaimed and hugged her friend with unfeigned delight. “She certainly doesn’t mind.” 

 

Tearing her eyes away from the sickeningly sweet tableau, Narcissa forged on, grasping at practical matters as her anchor. “Well, I was only waiting for one other person, and then we can get started. He’s been very helpful in my private classes, and might do Hermione quite a bit of good.” 

 

More people? This gets better and better. Why was this a good idea again? On the brink of bolting, Severus asked, “Anyone I know?” 

 

Narcissa was watching Severus shrewdly, “Yes, I think you might. Sir Whittingon. He’s a fixture here often enough. I’ve been trying to get him to sign on with us.” 

 

Snorting, “You’d do as well to try and cage the West Wind, Cissy.” Sir Whittington Nott was a well-known rake of epic proportions, and had been a good friend of Severus’ for years. He hadn’t been able to acknowledge the connection publicly until after the war, and of course the papers made much of it, supposing inappropriate relations between the two men given the vehemence of Nott’s own defense of Snape, as well as Nott’s long standing social reputation. 

 

Humming her agreement, Narcissa pinked prettily in her cheeks, “I know. But he is rather good for business.” 

 

Severus laughed, “That old fox. Still has it, does he?” 

 

A ham-hand clapped Severus on the shoulder and his old mentor faded into view as his disillusionment enchantment melted away. “Who are you calling old, laddie? I can outpace you in anything you’d care to bet on.” The mossy green eyes laughed at Severus, probably knowing that he’d just about given him a heart attack with the abrupt appearance. 

 

Turning to face Whit, Severus moved to shake hands, but not having any of it Whit pulled Severus into a bear-hug. When he pulled back, still holding onto Severus’ shoulders, he fixed Severus with a penetrating look. Severus had a feeling that Whit knew every painful detail of his current condition, including how he came to be in the position in the first place. Given detailing would be superfluous in that instance, Severus uttered the single phrase, “Connie told you.” 

 

Eyes crinkling in amusement, he acknowledged the supposition, “Something of the matter, I think. Perhaps not a complete debriefing, but I did distract her before she disgorged the entire tale.” Whit’s heavy silver brow waggled suggestively, “You’ll want to thank me later. It takes quite the effort to stop that witch’s mouth when she gets going.”  

 

Severus felt slightly queasy at the mental picture that summoned up, “Your methods are not universally applicable, sir, as you well know.” He’d interrupted those two on more than one occasion, to the point that he suspected that it was intentional. 

 

Whit smiled fondly at Severus, going on, “I confess, it is good to see you tossed in love. We should go get a drink soon.” 

 

The invitation should not have taken Severus by surprise, but he was unused to the fact that he had someone he could talk to about things. His throat was suspiciously dry as he croaked, “Thanks.” 

 

Releasing him, Whit turned to Narcissa. “What’s on the lesson plan tonight, teacher?” 

 

Severus turned his attention back to the corner where Hermione was talking quietly with Andromeda. Harry had conjured a table and chairs and had taken Teddy to a corner where they bent their heads together over sheets of paper. Groaning internally his attention shifted back to the lesson planning happening right there. 

 

“No, I don’t think they’re up for the Tango quite yet, Cissy. I saw them dancing at the Yule Ball. Let’s do the foxtrot, and if we have time we can do the cha cha.” Whit’s eye flicked in a wink at Severus, letting him know that he had an ally here at least. 

 

Narcissa’s brow furrowed, “The tango is much more romantic, don’t you think? I thought…” 

 

“As you said, we’ll likely need to come back tomorrow, Narcissa. We can go over it then.” 

 

Whit leaned in to Narcissa, “Oh, my Lady. I had no idea you yearned so badly for a turn about the floor.” Grasping her hand, he bowed to kiss her on the knuckles. Eyes dancing with wickedness, he straightened before she could recover and turned to the piano. “Madam Tonks, if you would? Foxtrot.” 

 

Andromeda took out her wand, and tapped the gramophone once. The fanciful strains of Van Morrison’s ‘Moondance’ began to play. 

 

Rolling her eyes, Narcissa allowed herself to be swung into position. “As you can see, this is the proper position. It is no different than that you use for the waltz, however the meter is on a count of four rather than three.” She drew herself up, her posture becoming even more exquisitely correct, and in that moment her beauty and poise were striking. 

 

“We’ll do a demonstration first, and then we’ll let you two try.” Whit stepped into the rhythm and Severus had to be impressed with his mentor. He’d gone gray, and although it had in truth taken years, to Severus it seemed to happen overnight. He’d developed a bit of a paunch and while still well muscled, he was sparer than he had been in the past, more stringy. For all of that, the man was light on his feet, moving with unconscious grace that matched Narcissa well. 

 

From the wall, the painted dancer had gotten up and was watching the couple sail about the floor with her arms crossed. She called out, “Cissy, arms up. Lively now! One and two and...” Well, they were both pureblood bred and had been taught these skills from childhood. 

 

Hermione came back over and sat down in one of the chairs, taking off her shoes. Severus had a brief view of glittery enameled toes before she pulled on the slippers he had gifted her with that same morning. As he watched her wriggle her toes within the black satin the music came to a conclusion, and he turned his attention back to their instructors. Finding their knowing eyes upon him, Severus felt as though he were back at Hogwarts, and was caught not paying attention. Ah. If dirty looks would come as house point deductions, he was sure Slytherin had just lost five. 

 

With a glint in her eye, Narcissa stepped forward. “Now, it makes sense for you each to pair up with one of us for the purposes of learning. It helps to have a partner who is comfortable with the steps in the beginning.” 

 

Hermione bounced to her feet and said brightly, “Sure, I’d love to dance with you, Madam Black.” There was an edge to that brightness. 

 

Was Hermione jealous? Shit. His pants were tighter. He closed his eyes, meditating on Sybil Trelawney’s eating habits. Sybil couldn’t see worth a damn. Two days ago he had been subjected to the sight of her mixing everything together in one bowl (smoked mackerel, gruel, and chopped prunes, smothered in tea) and then she still missed her mouth when she tried to eat it with a spoon. She was worse than a toddler. How did she get those sardines in her hair and why hadn’t anyone fished them out the day before? Ah, nausea. Better.  

 

He must have missed the rest of the exchange because by the time he was back in the present, Narcissa was pulling him out onto the floor and reminding him how to square up. 

  
  


* * *

 

Hermione was extremely nervous. Whatever was going on with her, Severus’ stiff demeanour hadn’t helped. She didn’t realise when she agreed to the plan for the date that they’d be forced to dance with other people, even if they were teachers. Sir Whittington Nott or ‘call me Whit m’lady, everyone else does,’ was overwhelming. Her hands were sweating and her voice was all but gone. All she could do was nod and try to follow directions. She wasn’t sure what it was, because dancing with Neville hadn’t bothered her at all. Dancing with Severus at the Yule Ball did have her anxious at the time but it was for clear reasons that she could understand. This was beyond her.

 

Perhaps it was the man’s confidence. Every movement was precise, power controlled. He was a man but he exuded an air of more. She couldn’t fault his treatment of her, he was exactly polite and respectful, but there was still something in the way he looked at her that made her feel like she was a dessert and he was patiently waiting for an invitation. He did have an awful lot of hair, there were curls of chest hair visible at the open collar of his button down shirt.  

 

Memories of a feral voice, of the pungent smell of male mixed with dirt and copper blood cropped up, unbidden. The last time someone had regarded her with that intensity openly was Fenrir Greyback, who had made it very clear that he wanted to taste her, to ravage her flesh, to in fact eat her. An involuntary shudder rippled through her frame, and the hand at her waist loosened its grip. 

 

“Hermione?” 

 

They had stopped, and she hadn’t even noticed. Blinking rapidly, she looked down as she took a step back. She could taste the incipient tears running down the back of her throat, they had not yet reached her eyes. She took a deep breath and looked up into the concerned face of her teacher. Whatever it was, it was gone now and the wizard left behind was definitely not a threat. Embarrassed, she managed a nervous laugh. “I’m… sorry. Did I misstep?” 

 

Making no move to recapture her, Whit shook his head, “No. But you were somewhere else, I think.” 

 

A rapid intake of breath betrayed Hermione’s dismay, and the man held up both of his hands in a gesture, indicating he had no intention of pressing her on the matter. Hermione hugged herself and took a few deep breaths, gulping. “I… I’m sorry Sir Whit.”  

 

Shaking his head in negation, Whit offered a tentative smile. “I think we need a spot of tea and a short break.” He glanced over at Narcissa and Severus who were working on one of the finer points of leading. Satisfied that they were getting on better, he gestured toward the chairs at the front. “If you would.” 

 

Hermione felt eyes on her. She had almost forgotten that Harry was seated across the room. She looked towards him and found him staring at her. She gave him a tight, tremulous smile before going to take a seat. 

 

Meanwhile, Whit had summoned a dark complected house-elf named Winston to retrieve the desired tea, so Hermione was left to wring her hands in her lap. 

 

Whit pulled one of the chairs around so that he was seated a good five feet away and facing her at an angle, so that he looked as though he were still attending to what was going on out on the ballroom floor. He leaned forwards, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Hermione, I don’t know exactly what happened back there, but it has clearly affected you.” His shaggy grey brow knit together and he amended his statement, his expression hang-dog. “Well, you know I’ve had the great fortune of knowing many witches over the course of my life so far, so I think I have an idea. Do you need to talk about it?”  

 

Andromeda was already halfway across the ballroom towards them, her long skirt clutched in her hand. 

 

Fisting her hands in her own dress, Hermione struggled to regain control. She found that she did want to talk about it, but she also didn’t. The impulse to speak wrestled with shame. It was Andromeda’s arrival that broke her inner conflict. Perhaps the presence of the witch heartened her, perhaps she felt safer, but Hermione found the strength to meet Whits’ green eyes and utter a name. “Greyback.” 

 

At first, Hermione couldn’t be sure that he had heard her for the lack of response. Then she realised he had stopped breathing. Uncertainty flooded in, it was an alien feeling for her. Unable to handle it, she looked away. Her previous fear bled away, stepping aside for frank embarrassment and a more practical consideration: she was making a scene and did not like it. 

 

The clink of china attracted her attention, and Hermione looked up to see Andromeda handing her a cup balanced on a saucer, already fixed with the splash of milk that she preferred. The woman’s hair was starting to grey at her temples, but she still left it long, only pinning up a section to keep it away from her face. Her dark eyes were warm, and Hermione had to bite her tongue to stave off a fresh spring of tears that threatened to break free. No. She would not cry. She took the cup with a nod of thanks, not trusting her voice. 

 

Whit’s cultured, “Thank you, Madam” told her that he was reviving from his shock, or whatever that response passed for.  A moment later, he spoke quietly, “You know, I hold my family’s seat on the Wizengamot now, Hermione. I inherited it when my Uncle and Cousin both lost their lives in the war.” His voice was matter of fact, flat. 

 

A thrill of excitement laced with fear and confusion shot through Hermione, leaving her nerves jangling even more than before. He must have seen the files describing what happened at Malfoy Manor at some point in time. She stole a look up and saw a grim expression on the formerly charming wizard’s face. A short nod confirmed her conclusion. 

 

Andromeda folded down into the chair next to Hermione. “Had to start earning that Lordship, Whit?”

 

His expression was rueful. “Quite.” He set down the tea cup and turned his attention back on Hermione. She couldn’t decide if she wanted to bite him or hear what he had to say. Fortunately propriety dictated the answer. 

 

“The point is, Hermione, that you don’t need to say anything further. I apologise, as my memories of the details of the case were filed away. Perhaps I could plead age as my excuse. Regardless, I wanted to tell you that I think you very brave and I am sorry to have reminded you of that beast.” 

 

Shrewd, Andromeda interjected. “Oh, but you are a different sort of beast. Perhaps she sensed that.” 

 

Lifting his hands in surrender, Whit chuckled. “Guilty as charged, Andy.” He turned his attention back to Hermione. “I’m harmless, I promise. I’d never ever take advantage of anyone.”  

 

Andromeda growled at him, “You’re a shameless heartbreaker and you know it.” She sipped at her tea and Hermione was still trying to decipher what she was missing. 

 

Baring his teeth in a grimace, Whit answered, “Careful, I bite too. When asked politely, mind you.” 

 

Hermione was fascinated to see color rise in the normally impeccably poised woman’s face. Auntie Andy liked this rapscallion? She looked away, murmuring, “I’ve no idea of what you mean, sir. Kindly take yourself to the gates of Hades and ask for Lucifer. He’ll give you your due.” 

 

“Not today, I think. I’ve a date tonight I intend to keep.” An easy laugh escaped Whit, who looked over and noted Hermione’s silence. “Have you figured it out, Professor?” 

 

At a loss, Hermione shook her head. In the blink of an eye, where Whit had been moving to stand, a silver fox leapt lightly down to the floor and paced over to the ladies. His tail was luxurious and his muzzle was well endowed with a profusion of whiskers that mimicked a mustache. They even curled up a bit at the tips. 

 

Disarmed, Hermione let out a low whistle of admiration. “Animagus.” 

 

The fox yipped, cocking an ear in Andromeda’s direction, and she met the development with no surprise at all. “Fleabitten rogue.” 

 

In response he sat up on his haunches, as though he were a show-dog, performing a trick. He yipped again. 

 

Rolling her eyes, Andromeda set her tea down and then wiggled her fingers in a beckoning gesture. She bit out a reluctant sounding, “Oh, very well. Come here.” Her eyes danced, and Hermione rather thought the reluctance covered a fair measure of pleasure. 

 

With a bounce in his step that would have better suited a cub, the fox closed the few feet between them and then set his front paws on Andromeda’s knee, closer to Hermione. The woman stroked his head for a while, and Hermione was amused to see him half-close his eyes in evident pleasure. His fur looked soft. 

 

A chuckle escaped Hermione. “Clever.” 

 

The fox opened one black fur-lined eye and Hermione was startled to see that the fox’s eyes were the same shade as the man’s. The fox lowered that lid in a deliberate wink before Andy started to scratch under his chin. A groan of foxy ecstasy escaped the creature and Hermione had to put a hand over her mouth in an effort to smother the howl of laughter she was struggling to contain. 

 

Aunt Andy smirked, “Don’t let yourself get too tangled up with this one, dear. He’s a piece of work.” 

 

The fox sat up, dislodging the hand that was still petting him. A single snort showed what he thought of that. He turned his head and dropped back to the floor with a faint whine. He did a very good approximation of an animal who had been naughty and was getting scolded for it. His ears were flattened, his head lowered, and his tail drooped. 

 

Hermione sipped her tea, feigning disinterest. “I see what you mean. Did he ever perform on the stage?” 

 

The witches laughed together as the fox turned away, his conciliatory posture melting away. A blur and moments later Whit was reclaiming his chair with a slight smile playing at the edges of his lips. “Now, I am supposed to be teaching you to dance the foxtrot, Hermione. I’d be happy to give it another go, or you could see if Aunt Andy here might do until Severus is free.” 

 

Draining the rest of her tea, Hermione made a decision. “Let’s give it another go, sir.” She put the cup down and looked up to see the man standing, offering her a hand up. Feeling shy about it, she said, “I am sorry to have made a scene. Thank you, for understanding.” 

 

A trace of sorrow bled back into Whit’s expression. “You should never have to apologise for anything of the sort, Hermione. Think no more on it.” 


	11. Instrumental Interlude (Sinful Minds, Straying)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemony bit after the break.
> 
> Thanks go to [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) for wrangling more commas than I care to count and whipping me into shape. Also thanks to readers like you!

“Well, this was a nice surprise, Severus.” 

 

Minding the steps, Severus was not prepared for protracted social niceties. Well, less so than usual. “Likewise.” He really meant it too. Severus had always liked Narcissa. She was kind to him when he was in school, in spite of his background. It may have been because of his background in the end but during his first year at Hogwarts, she had helped to smooth out the remaining rough edges that his mother had not been able to attend to. She was older than he, a Prefect. It was wrenching to see her graduate at last, but she fastidiously maintained their connection over the years. In some ways, he thought of her as an older sister. That made this dance lesson vastly easier in some ways, but the conversation was infinitely more awkward.  

 

“Hermione Granger?” Her sharp look was weighted with disbelief. “Tell me this is a passing fling.” 

 

A deep chuckle rose from him in response. Of course she wouldn’t like it. “You disapprove?” 

 

Eyebrows raising at the defensive question, Narcissa took the beat and a twirl to consider her answer. As she returned she demurred, “I was merely surprised. Far be it from me to deny you happiness. But is that what this is about, Severus?” 

 

Resisting the temptation to keep her twirling and rob her breath, Severus responded with a firm nod, appending his answer, “And hers.” 

 

He could tell that she was not paying close attention to the dance, her responses took a beat longer and weren’t as smooth as she had been minutes before. 

 

“Well, the match does have its charms. She’s intelligent.” 

 

“Yes. Everyone keeps reminding me, as though I were too dull to see that. To save you the litany, I also recall that she is a war hero and the witch who saved my life. That was years ago, and no this isn’t a feeling that flows out of a sense of obligation for the life debt. I’d already saved her life more than once, so I consider that scale balanced.” He frowned, “Why is this so difficult for you to believe?” 

 

Narcissa laughed derisively. “The girl, woman now I suppose, always seems so unapproachable.” 

 

“You may have a twisted view on that, Cissy. She was tortured by your sister. Why on earth would she want to give you the time of day?” 

 

“I am Lady Malfoy, and in spite of my associations I remain in good standing with society. I am sensible of the debt owed to Professor Granger, Severus. I am just concerned as she isn’t the caliber of witch I expected to see you happy with. It seems so sudden.” Rolling her eyes, she went on. “She is too thin, her style and manner of address lack polish, and her taste is utterly common.” 

 

Severus opened his mouth to contradict her, but Narcissa spoke right through him. “You would think she’s never used magic by the state of her hair, and she is unconscionably independent and outspoken. I doubt she’s capable of holding discourse without picking an argument with any witch or wizard of good breeding.” 

 

The need to respond overrode manners and Severus spoke over his instructor, “You know, I believe I’ve already had this exact conversation with Lucius.” 

 

Narcissa’s hand spasmed in his at the mention of her ex-husband’s name. Her voice was strained as she said, “He is sensible, although I am certain that he’d approve of the match as she is good for you politically. Need a ticket to stay out of Azkaban? You shouldn’t of all people but,” she hummed her approval, “Granger is quite the insurance policy is she not?” 

 

Severus was appalled. He knew people would frown on the age gap, and would consider his prior associations with dark magic too much of a contamination to make him a good match for Hermione, but this angle and what Madam Black was insinuating was a new outrage. “You realise that I don’t need either your or Lucius’ approval?” 

 

A tilt of the head was Narcissa’s only answer, a gesture of agreement. “But of course. Look, she’s managed to fluster Sir Whittington Nott, of all people. He’s a most agreeable conversational partner. Witches fall all over themselves to come here for a lesson with him.” 

 

Whipping his head about, Severus almost lost his place in the steps. Hermione wasn’t dancing, she was sitting in a chair, looking tense. “It doesn’t look like she’s arguing, Cissy.” He marked the presence of the second witch at Hermione’s side. “Nor is your sister.” 

 

Unperturbed, Narcissa sailed straight on by that point, “I confess, it must be a comfort to you that she enjoys reading so much. At least that is a quiet occupation. Should be easy enough to distract her with a new book should you wish for some peace.”  

 

Severus could not be fooled by this last attack, recognising it for what it was. “I can hold my own in any discussion, as well you know. You also know that I’m ten times as fractious as Hermione Granger when I choose. I want her words  _ and  _ her silences.” 

 

This definitive statement hung in the air between them, as solid as any  _ Protego _ , and before long their dance came to an end.  He twirled her round about, leaving her at arm’s length as the song faded to silence.  

 

He bowed to Narcissa formally, and she returned a curtsy with a graceful bend of her knee. 

 

From the wall, the portrait spoke. “Now Narcissa, you know you talk too much while you dance. Next time kindly limit your discussion to what is needed for the lesson.” 

 

“Yes, Aunt Walburga.” 

 

Severus stumbled, mentally and physically at the name. Good grief, was that the same woman? The portrait called to him as he gaped at the young woman on the wall, “And you, young man, you need to mind where you are going.” She turned back to Narcissa, “Quarter turns and weaves, I think. He’s got the basics.”  Walburga Black  née  Black clapped her hands, indicating they should get back to work. 

Turning, Severus noticed Whit leading Hermione back out onto the dance floor and they made eye contact for a fleeting, stolen moment. Her glance measured him quickly and he became concerned as she seemed edgy. 

 

Snapping fingers pulled his attention back around. “Music, please, Andy.” The other witch looked bemused, and Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me To the Moon” started to play, a nice slow foxtrot for the sake of practice.

 

Severus found himself steering a rather subdued witch about the floor before long, she having stopped a moment to show him a right quarter turn, followed by the left. Severus stole glances in Hermione’s direction, making copious use of the mirrors to track her progress.  

 

The lesson passed quickly enough and before long he had Hermione as a partner at last. They stood together, taking suggestions for their posture and positioning and he was focused on her face, albeit via the mirror and its reflection. There was a vertical line of tension at her brow as she concentrated on the instructions. He rubbed a little circle on her back with his thumb, wishing to ease her tension. 

 

There were rough moments, where he intended one thing and she misunderstood and did another. She at least was not trying to lead. It could be said that Narcissa’s conversational skills left him disinterested, a rather more comfortable state than what he was dealing with now. The proximity of Hermione, the scent of myrrh in her hair was causing him increasing levels of inconvenience.

 

It was all he could do to pay attention as Narcissa toed out the steps of their new dance, the Cha-cha-cha. She was rather focused on getting Hermione to loosen up her hips, something about isolation of movement. After seeing Whit cast him a too-long glance he had to avoid looking the man in the eye. He was entirely too perceptive. Whit wanted Severus to do something similar but was focused on his knees.

 

Narcissa’s sharp voice pulled him back to the moment, “Music, Father, if you please?” The younger man in the painting nodded and uttered a count before pulling the bow across string with an intense expression of concentration while Aunt Walburga sang and clapped her hands in the characteristic rhythm of “La engañadora.”

 

An easier dance to learn, once the rhythm worked its way into her skin, Hermione was smiling and swinging her hips, with encouragements called on by their instructors. He could tell the exact moment when she realised how much he was affected by a telling blush. It did his heart good. That embarrassment made Severus feel somewhat vindicated. It was, regrettably for the state of his bollocks, a very brief moment of victory as from there she seemed to make it her mission to amp him up even further. 

 

As the music was stopped, all Severus could hear was a pounding in his ears, probably his own heart rate. He was breathing a bit fast too. Of course that was when Harry Potter chose to approach. 

 

“Hi, Hermione. Professor.” The man stood with his hands jammed into his pockets. “It is nice to see you two somewhere other than the papers.” 

Severus was struggling, having hoped to get tomorrow arranged and get out of there. “Potter.” It was all he could do not to curse. 

 

Hermione smiled at her friend before tucking herself under Severus’ arm, a show of possessiveness that did nothing to relieve Severus’ discomfort. “Thanks, Harry. I hate to say hello and dash, but we’ve plans already.” 

 

Harry was thankfully as obtuse as ever, so Severus took a chance and canted his hips to the side, a slight adjustment that did help. Marginally.  

 

“Where are you off to then?” This was directed at Severus who had a better chance at focusing now. 

 

“A restaurant. Because I’m rather  _ hungry _ .” There, see if the boy gets the message. 

 

Casting a worried look up at Severus, Hermione said, “Don’t you think you’ve stalked us enough tonight, Harry?” 

 

At least Potter had the grace to look embarrassed as he ran a hand through his messy hair. Andromeda came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Severus and Hermione, we’ve an opening at one for another  _ private _ lesson. It will just be with Cissy and I, but I think we might be able to get the basics of the tango in.” She put a firm emphasis on the word ’private’, to Harry’s chagrin.  

 

Severus looked down at Hermione, “If you are willing?” 

 

Hermione chirped, “Wild Abraxans couldn’t keep me away.” The melting smile that blossomed on the witch’s soft lips made the thundering start again in his ears with a vengeance. He felt himself break out in a sweat. He really needed to get out of there. He dared not occlude completely. Gritting his teeth, he ground out, “Right. Thank you, Madam Tonks, and Madam Black.” He nodded once to Harry. “Potter.” 

 

He felt a tugging at his waist and understood that Hermione was steering him. Once they were out into the street, Hermione whispered, “So, is there a place we can stop before heading onwards? I’d like to freshen up.” 

 

Casting about, Severus said, “There’s a loo back there in the studio?” 

 

“I was hoping for someplace a bit more  _ secluded _ .” Her brown eyes sparkled up at him. “Away from prying eyes.” 

 

Gulping in the cold air, Severus prayed that his head would clear. The sweat was freezing off at least. Feeling useless, “Did you have someplace specific in mind?” 

 

Hermione squeezed his hand which was wrapped around hers. “Severus. I need a washroom and you need a couch.” 

 

Blinking, Severus hesitantly offered, “Well, there’s my flat in… “

 

Cutting him off, Hermione said, “Perfect. Let’s go.” She pulled him around the corner of the building and out of sight. Satisfied with their level of discretion, she turned to face him, her lower lip caught in her teeth. All he could do was look at her. He wasn’t exactly in pain, but the pressure of his need throbbed, insistent. Maybe he could use the bathroom too. 

 

When he didn’t move to disapparate with her, she reached up and took his face in her hands to say, “Severus? I was thinking I should like some dessert before we go to dinner.” She went up on tiptoes to get better access, kissing him firmly on the lips. It was a too brief, promissory kind of kiss that spoke of more to come. Sod the bathroom. 

 

A surge of adrenaline forced blood back into his brain, breaking the bonds of his own heated and inactionable arousal. Taking a deep breath, he wrapped his arms around Hermione, lifting her slightly off of the pavement as pulled her to him. Placing a firm grip on his witch, he twirled them into the embrace of that which was between.

 

* * *

 

Later, neither could clearly recall exactly how they ended up on the couch. Hermione was the first to break the intense kiss, gasping for air, her breasts heaving up and down so fetchingly in that blue cotton peasant-blouse. Severus was having trouble, his higher functions most definitely being offline. He’d felt this way when he’d drank enough whiskey to render him nearly blind. What did manage to penetrate the fog was Hermione pushing away. 

 

A gasp of frustrated need escaped his throat. “Shite.” He squinted at Hermione as he ran his hands through his hair, trying to contain the agony. “I don’t think I can go much longer with the black.” It cost him much to make this admission. 

 

Small hands picking at his belt stopped the breath in his throat. “Her… Hermione?” 

 

“Hush.” She pulled at the waistline of his trousers. “Lift your hips.” 

 

Obedient, he complied with a blown out breath, letting out a, “NyaAGH,” as the band of his boxers caught briefly on the head of his cock.

“S..s..sorry.” Hermione gently pushed his legs apart and settled there between them on her knees. If he had been capable of rational observation, he may have noticed Hermione’s lack of confidence. 

 

Her fingernails gently raked up the insides of his thighs, and he could feel his balls pull up in reflexive response, making him gasp. He must have sounded truly pained as a quiet “Oh!” escaped that dear mouth. Robbed of words he shook his head, dropping it back on the sofa. He really did think he was about to pass out. 

 

She flattened her hands, running them lightly up his legs and about his hips, around to his abdomen before returning downwards in long sweeping motions. Her palms drank in the feel of him, the smooth and the soft skin, stretched over lean muscle and bone. It would have been soothing in other circumstances, but at this point he was well past consolation. 

 

Lifting his head, he looked down at her and was heartened to see a very Gryffindorish look of determination. She had him thrumming like a harp and she hadn’t even struck the first chord yet. She slowly moved forward, keeping her eyes locked upon his. He didn’t want to look away from that intense gaze - he couldn’t as she grasped the base of his cock in both hands. 

 

It was Hermione who looked away first, observing the drip of pre-cum that leaked out. He watched her inhale, the whisper of air cooling his skin, making him quiver. The tip of her tongue flicked out, tasting him, lapping at the viscous liquid. Each swipe made him twitch in her hands, every lap made her bolder. 

 

“Mmm. 

 

Unable to hold it up any longer he dropped his head back down and he closed his eyes, trying to shut out everything in the world but Hermione and what she was doing with that marvelous mouth of hers. 

 

Fire pooled in his belly and his fingers scrabbled at the leather of the couch, looking for purchase. Her mouth was hot and wet, and she was applying pressure in all of the right places. She took a long pull, letting his cock bob free. “Are you alright?” 

 

A groan was the most he could manage, a sharp jerk of his chin indicating he had heard her. As she clutched at the base of his cock, putting pressure there, the wind chilled his skin. “Buzzin.” There. A word. He was panting and he didn’t care. Her hand cradled his balls and it was perfect.

 

The pressure of her mouth descended upon him once more, and he could feel her throat spasm in an approving chuckle. It was enough to send him straight over the edge, everything drawing together in an explosive white-out. One moment he was writhing full of fire, fit to burst with the intensity of it all. The next everything came to a point, like a flash of lightning that started at the base of his spine and spread out from there. His breath and heart both stopped, his ability to move was gone, all held fast as that moment of pleasure drew out, perfectly suspended in time. Just when he knew he was going to pass out, he shattered as the waves of his orgasm broke over him, relentlessly washing him away. 

 

Severus had no idea what sort of time had passed when his vision returned. Logic dictated it was but a moment, but it seemed that the flat was dimmer than he remembered. A weight on his right thigh, and a warmth in his groin reminded him that he was not actually dreaming, and he was very much not alone. 

 

Finding the strength to lift his head was a challenge, but the sight of the curly haired witch looking back up at him with such a soft expression pulled at his heart, which was beating once more, slow and steady. He scrubbed at his face, trying to rub some feeling back into it. Finding his tongue once more he spoke, “That was amazing.  _ You  _ are amazing.” 

 

Hermione brightened. “That was alright? I wasn’t certain. It wasn’t what I expected.” She shifted, moving back so that her weight was no longer on his leg. 

 

“Outstand-ING!” The last syllable was a strangled yelp as one of the witch’s curls brushed ever so lightly against his extremely sensitive knob in passing. 

 

His body cried out with a sense of loss as she pulled back and stood. Her hair was a wonderful mess as she looked down at him, her tongue fleetingly licking her lips. “Really? I mean, it looked like it felt good but there wasn’t as much…” Her fingers wiggled as she searched for the word. “Semen.” 

 

It was all Severus could do not to laugh as he responded, “You know I’ve never inflated a grade in my life, witch.” He patted the seat next to him, and noticed her looking at his dick with an expression of curious speculation, as though it were a potion that hadn’t turned the proper colour at the expected moment. “Dry. it was a dry orgasm. You did it correctly, Merlin forfend.” 

 

Hermione sank down onto the couch next to him, moulding into his side, her eyes abstracted. A swift intake of breath marked the moment the knut dropped for her. “Oh, the rings. Of course.” Relief washed over her as understanding set in. 

 

Severus’ low, throaty chuckle answered her. “Don’t tell me that you were disappointed.” 

 

Embarrassed, Hermione laughed too. “Always learning.” Her fingers drummed on his chest before her eyes travelled downwards again. “Speaking of, do you think you’ve learned your lesson?” 

 

The levity drained out of him and he nodded once, looking back at her steadily. “Can you forgive me?” 

 

“I think so.” She craned her neck, and he felt a double tap followed by the twin release of the cockrings. The relief he felt was more than just emotional. He had been wearing those rings for quite a while. It wasn’t as intense as it could have been given he was spent, but it was good to have the constricting devices off. He wasn’t certain how long it had been all told, but he wasn’t going to say a word. It needed no other context outside of the here and now. 

 

He hitched his hips and pulled his clothes back together before directing his attention back to the witch he loved. Wrapping his arms around her, he dropped a kiss onto her upturned brow. “Thank you, Hermione.” 

 

Tension had built in Hermione’s shoulders and yet she remained silent, staring at the rings in the palm of her hand. 

 

Drawing on a deep reserve of energy, Severus shifted his position so that he could get a better look at Hermione, who was lost in her own thoughts. After some minutes of sitting like that together he grew concerned and whispered, “Are you quite alright?” 

 

Hermione’s hand closed tightly over the golden dragon rings, their black and green eyes now obscured from view. “Yes. No.” She sighed gently, searching for the words to explain. “I... I worry that I’m not in the same place you are.” Her hand shifted and she produced the black eyed dragon ring between her fingers, retaining the other in the palm of her hand. She pulled away from him, and he loosened his grip, letting her go. 

 

Was she worried she couldn’t learn, or that she hadn’t already? What was she trying to say? Knowing better than to try and reframe her statement, he murmured, “Go on.” 

 

A flash of fear was visible in the witch’s eyes. He observed the tension in her shoulders, the tightness of her lips. Wrong, wrong, it was all wrong. He wanted to reach out, to soothe her, but his instincts held him resolutely back. 

 

Finally she said in a very quiet voice. “I’m.. not very good.” 

 

“Check your Christmas stocking. I am absolutely certain you didn’t get a lump of coal.” He cursed his tongue for cheek, but didn’t go on to apologise.

 

Hermione’s mouth twitched at the poor joke. Perhaps it wasn’t the wrong thing to say after all, as she went on. “I’ve… that is to say... I’ve never…” Her frown deepened. “Well, I’ve always frozen up.” She shot him a look that was heavy with anxiety before she had to look away. 

 

Ah. Ice cold rivulettes of understanding started to converge. “Can you tell me more?” 

 

The words made Hermione visibly flinch. Bollocks. Before she moved to answer he followed his request with an amendment of sorts, “I’d like to understand you fully, in your own time, Hermione. It does not have to be now, or even tonight. But before we do anything like this again, we must talk. I... confess I did not know what to expect, but I regret it if you feel pressured. It truly wasn’t my intention.” 

 

Shaking her head violently, she raised shining eyes to his. “No, you didn’t. I wanted.. I wanted to do this with you. It made me happy. You’re wonderful, I just...” She blew out a breath, “I’m wound tight, I can’t relax. I don’t know what to do. How to be…” Her hand waved between them. “This.” 

“Hermione. It is okay. You are alright.” A smile crept onto his lips. “ _ We are alright. _ ” He reached over and gently took the rings from her and tucked them into his back pocket. He opened his arm to her, an invitation to his embrace. “Don’t push yourself. I’m content to slow down.” 

 

After the barest hesitation the little witch fell back into his embrace, a suspicious warmth on his shirt warned him that she might be crying. Damn, what was it about him that made this woman weep so? Her shoulders shuddered, and then she tilted her head up to regard him. “Thank you. Oh, thank you.” 

 

He cracked a self-deprecating smile, “I am an aging wizard, after all. I must conserve my strength to keep up with you.” 

 

An answering giggle from Hermione was all he could have hoped for as he conjured a tissue for her. She took it and mopped at her eyes and nose, between which she pronounced in a most matter of fact manner, “Horseshit. You’ve not even reached your primacy, Severus.” 

 

Severus’ eyebrows flew up in response. “I did get an invite to the ARPO50 in the mail, you know.” 

 

That drew a surprised laugh from Hermione. “You’re kidding.” 

 

Shaking his head ruefully, Severus confirmed it. “Just this week. Next thing you know there will be vultures roosting on the building.” 

 

A thoughtful expression crossed Hermione’s face and she paused, suspended as her mind chewed on that. “Isn’t your birthday soon?” 

 

Looking up at the ceiling he answered slowly, “I shouldn’t think it will be until next year at least.” 

 

Hermione stood up, looking about for a bin. “You do know next year is only days away.” She didn’t miss his wince in response and her eyes narrowed. “I see.” 

 

Clearing his throat, he made a gambit to change the subject. “I do believe I promised you dinner. Are you still hungry?” 

 

After a moment’s pause, possibly to decide if she was going to let him get away with that, she turned about, looking at the flat, mapping out its lines. “I asked for the use of a washroom as well.” 

 

“Quite, it’s through that door there.” He flicked his wand at the tissue she held in fingers. “And there aren’t any bins.” The tissue vanished. Hermione had the grace to look mildly embarrassed, but what was that to their earlier conversation? 

 

While she was occupied, Severus tested his legs, checking to be certain he’d regained the strength in them before he attempted to stand. He ruefully chided himself: he thought he was in decent shape but here he was, if he wasn’t careful he’d be hobbling like a pensioner. For all her protestation of ‘not being very good,’ she’d almost been more than he could handle, and at least in his youth it had been quite a lot.  

 

His fingers itched for the chance to return the favor, but that was out of the question for now. His mind picked at the events of the day, of her reaction to Whit, to himself. When they walked out of the studio, she had seemed so clear, so certain. Was his own arousal at the time clouding his thinking? He would have to tread with caution until she saw fit to bring him further into her confidences.  

 

As he washed his hands in the sink, a sappy quote from a book he read many years ago leapt to mind. “You are never given a wish without also being given the power to make it true. You may have to work for it, however.”* He snorted, “I am such a fool.” Clearly he was going soft in his dotage.

 

When Hermione emerged, he stood at the ready, holding her coat for her. “Now, what do you have the taste for?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Richard Bach, Illusions.


	12. The Seventh Day of Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've had a wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey fortnight, friends in which I was sick with the flu, and [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) was also afflicted with a nasty virus. Even so, she's done a bang-up job as always. 
> 
> Thanks also go to [Coromandel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Coromandel/pseuds/Coromandel) who has been patiently putting up with my gibbering. 
> 
> Last but not least, thanks go to readers like you! Comments and kudos brighten my day.

Breakfasts on Saturday mornings at Hogwarts were normally sparsely attended by faculty, but this was particularly true over the holidays. Therefore, Severus was very surprised to see a worried looking Conrad Rolle talking, head bent together with Whittington Nott. Headmistress McGonagall was away visiting relations. Poppy had come down as well and she was holding the hand of an attractive blonde witch who seemed to be crying. It was hard to tell exactly who it was until Severus walked past the pair, since she had her head bowed and a curtain of platinum blond hair obscured her face. 

 

It was after Severus sat down and summoned his thicker-than-blood coffee that he recognised the distraught witch. “Merlin’s Beard. Lucius?!” 

 

Conrad reached over and whacked Severus on the back of his head soundly. “Moderate your tone, arsehole!” 

 

You couldn’t have surprised Severus more. “What the fuck…?” WHACK. He was boxed in the ear, spurring him to stand up and step away from the table, arms up defensively. “Stop. That.”

 

The fury in Conrad’s eyes was startling. Come to think of it he’d never seen Conrad this angry, ever. “This is your fault, Severus.” He was pointing at Lucius…  _ Olivia _ . 

 

A seed of sick comprehension sprouted as Severus took in the strange tableau of these two liberal-minded wizards hovering protectively over a clearly distressed former Death Eater. “That swinging-chocolate should have worn off by now. Besides, I owled the antidote on Christmas morning, Lucius.” 

 

Lucius blinked up at Severus, silver eyes flashing. “Well it didn’t bloody work, you git.” She wailed, “I can’t believe this is happening to me!” 

 

Poppy was exasperated at the whole thing. “No it isn’t, dear. You will be alright. It is only another 39 weeks and all will return to form.”  

 

Shaking his head, Severus said, “I don’t understand.” That was imprecise. Severus knew now exactly what was wrong, but he didn’t  _ want  _ to understand how it happened. Everything had gone curiously still in the hall, and his heart was beating unnaturally loudly in his ears. 

 

“Calm down, Conrad. Severus had no way to know this would happen.” Whit was standing now, placing a restraining hand on Conrad’s shoulder. 

 

“But how?” Severus’ brain was already answering that question before it was even out of his mouth. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Earlier in December, Severus and Lucius made arrangements to attend the Christmas Eve feast at the school together. It wasn’t unusual for displaced faculty who had volunteered to stay over with the students to invite a friend or loved one, and Lucius was most definitely displaced, estranged from his son and his marriage dissolved. Hogwarts was warm and welcoming and the feasts, even the small ones, were always a wonderful time. At the start of the meal, Severus helped Lucius open a very special cracker. 

 

Still fuming over his manhandling of a few days before, Severus had decided not to cancel on Lucius as had been his first impulse, but rather to give the wizard a taste of his own treatment. Moments before, Severus had opened his own cracker and got a paper crown, which Lucius appropriated, and a little chocolate bottle whose wrapper declared it contained firewhisky, and Severus made a show of protecting it from his friend’s greedy hands. “Get your own, Malfoy.” Lucius looked mischievous, so Severus show-reluctantly popped the chocolate whisky into his mouth, “Mm. Good.” He gestured to Lucius’ plate. “Let’s see yours.”  

 

Lucius’ cracker also contained a chocolate and a green santa hat, and rather pleased with both prizes, predictably Lucius popped the chocolate in his mouth and squashed the hat onto Severus’ head, seeing as he still prefered the crown, the ruddy ponce. The chintzy green velvet cap was obnoxious, and started to sing a different carol everytime someone said the word ‘Happy.’ It was a far cry from the sorting hat, that was for sure. 

 

As the roast was being passed around, Severus watched out of the corner of his eye as Lucius began to shrink. He was quiet at that moment, faux-regal in his paper crown. Then, Lucius’ eyes widened. “Snape, your eyebrows!”

 

Knowing exactly what was going on, Snape pulled off the cap and looked at it. 

 

Lucius flapped his hands as smoke was wafting in his direction, “No, man, the eyebrows on your face! They’re on fire!” 

 

Groaning, Snape swore, “George Weasley!” By naming the manufacturer of these particular crackers, who Severus had specifically engaged for the occasion, he shifted the attention over to him.  Further down the table others were breaking out in white feathers or growing festive Father Christmas Beards. Severus was examining himself in the flat of a knife and thought that the yule log fire-brows weren’t that bad of a look when he heard a gasp from next to him.  

 

Lucius was staring at his own hand in horror, as it changed before his eyes. Already the signet ring that normally fit easily onto his right ring finger was hanging loose and his fingers were tapering, becoming more shapely. A glance at the rest confirmed that the potion worked as predicted. Lucius’ masculine jaw refined to more graceful lines, his Adam’s apple disappeared, his shoulders narrowed, and his chest was... Before Severus could finish that thought, Lucius flapped a hand in front of his eyes. “Hey, big boy of a wizard. My eyes are up here.”  _ She  _ was smirking at him! 

 

Of course, Lucius would be a drop-dead gorgeous witch. Severus should have ordered something with ugly potion in it too for good measure. She looked up and down the table to see most of the faculty in various stages of the prank, and a small smug smile crept onto her face. After a moment’s pause, she transfigured her knife into a hand-mirror, examining herself from every angle. “I do think I wear this better than you, Sevvykins. Will I turn back into a pumpkin by midnight do you think?” 

 

She looked over and fluttered her lashes, and Severus felt distinctly ill. “Probably. Most of the Weasley’s products don’t last more than a few hours.” 

 

“Oh, well. That’s alright then. At least I’m beautiful.” She flicked her wand a few times, and her robes adjusted themselves, changing to something distinctly less modest. Sotto voce she added, “And you are hot at least by  _ some _ definitions of the word. You should send George a tip.” A few more flicks and the smell of french perfume started to waft over as Lucius put the finishing touches on her make-up. 

 

“Malfoy, you are a massive wanker.” 

 

Blood red lips crooked up wickedly, “Oh, you think so, do you? Call me Olivia, darling.” She was actually fluffing her bosom as she spoke and after checking herself out, she tipped her head at Severus and asked him, “Do these look enchanted to you? I prefer natural looks myself.” 

 

Severus ground his teeth in frustration. How did Lucius do it? Now he was harassing Severus as a witch and wasn’t even touching him. This was ten times worse. 

 

Not waiting for an articulate answer, Olivia winked at Severus. “Oh, you are so bestial when you get angry. It is appallingly charming. I take back everything I thought about Granger. She is onto something. Lucky chit.” Already she was looking about the room, gauging the general reaction to his new appearance. “Well now. What do we have here?” Did Lucius just  _ growl _ ? 

 

Conrad Rolle and Whittington Nott arrived around then, in time for the food. Both were already well-marinated and seizing the opportunity, ‘Olivia’ - as she now styled herself - to the amusement of many, took every opportunity to flirt. Severus was more than happy to move down a seat so that Conrad could sit on Olivia’s right, and Whit, not one to be slow on the pull, sat to her left. 

 

Seeing that Lucius was not going to go easy on him, Severus drank deeply of the mulled wine that night. He’d watched “Olivia” go off with Conrad and Whit for a tour of the castle and a nightcap, not even giving it a second thought. 

 

Clearly that was a huge mistake.  

  
  


* * *

 

Crossing his arms in front of him, Severus frowned at Whit and Conrad. “Luc… Olivia. While I admit to having obtained the Christmas crackers, I never imagined this specific problem could occur. How could I have anticipated that in a mere few hours here at Hogwarts of all places that you’d manage to…”

 

Whit broke in here, “Yes, yes. As I have already stated, it did not occur to us either.” He still held a firm hand on Conrad’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “And as much as we’d like to blame you, Severus, I think that we can all agree that as adults we made choices of our own that had nothing to do with the crackers.” 

 

“Well, there’s nothing else for it, is there?” Conrad turned away, his voice firming. “And this is not the place to have any further discussion on the matter.” He walked over to Olivia, dropped down into the seat next to her and picked up her hand, stroking it, and Severus noticed that she did not protest. “Come now, Queenie. It will be alright.” 

 

In between sobs, Olivia bit out, “I’m already the pariah of the wizarding world. What’ve I left to lose? Nothing! Why not add whore and jezebel to the mix?” 

 

Whit looked distressed particularly. He never really handled it well when a lady cried, “Don’t say that, darling. We’ll take care of you.  _ Whatever  _ you decide you want to do.” He was looking at Conrad, his mouth set in a firm line. 

 

Severus wondered how Olivia had managed to make her tears sparkle like little jewels as they tracked down her cheeks. Olivia didn’t do ugly crying, even her weeping was refined, couture. He’d taken to the gender change like a duck to water. 

 

Conrad reaffirmed, “Of course, Livvy. We’ll be with you every step of the way. If you’ll have us.” 

 

Silver eyes wide, she twisted to look between the wizards, and she sounded much more like her usual self. “You two are actually serious about that, aren’t you?” 

 

Whit smiled down at her, “Entirely.” 

 

Conrad lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Absolutely.” 

 

Severus looked away, feeling like an intruder. A gentle laugh drew his eyes back, and he was astonished to see Olivia smiling at the pair. She was practically glowing as she exclaimed, “I wanted more children. I never thought it would be like this, but I want them, desperately.” She had one hand absently resting against her belly, a protective gesture. 

 

There was very little that would get in the way of the antidote to a potion, but magic had intervened on the behalf of the sparks of life that kindled on Christmas Eve within his friend. Clearing his throat, Severus ventured, “May I be among the first to offer my congratulations to you, then, Olivia?” His mouth kept running without his brain, “I’d be happy to provide any potions you might be prescribed, of course, and whatever else I might be able assist you with.” 

 

Pushing away from the table Olivia stood to face Severus, and she sniffed and laughed. “Hormones. You know how it is.” She seemed to be hesitating, “I should be furious with you, you know.” 

 

Seeing his opening, Severus took it, “Lucius…” 

 

“Olivia.” 

 

“Olivia, I’m sorry for my part of this.” Severus gestured to Olivia’s whole body. 

 

Smiling back at Severus, Olivia stepped over to him and embraced him. “Oh, that’s alright, Sevvykins. The Christmas spirit got in me, and I rather lost my head.” 

 

Severus hadn’t noticed Olivia drinking and said so, and she shook her head, “No, it wasn’t that.” Looking back at Whit and Conrad, she leaned in and growled quietly, “I had no idea that Professors at Hogwarts were such demons in sheets. No wonder you decided to pursue Granger. I mean, brilliant minds and  _ oh Sevvykins _ , the creativity.” 

 

Severus was gently trying to pull away from Olivia, “Could you let go of me?” He was getting creeped out now. 

 

Laughing lowly, she purred, “Not until I’ve  _ thanked  _ you properly.” 

 

Squirming to get free, Severus yelped when she grabbed him by the nose and kissed him once on the lips, in front of the entire school. He struggled more and she finally released him, switching tactics. “When will I get to see Granger again? We’ll have so much to talk about.” 

 

Spluttering, Severus wiped his lips on his jacket, spitting out. “Malfoy! Don’t you dare bring her into this.” 

 

Still peeved with Severus, Conrad piped up, “Oh, soon enough. Come now, Livvy. Let’s go write a letter to the Headmistress. We’d better apprise her of this development so she doesn’t burst a vessel. We’ll want you to move in here with us, of course.” 

Olivia looked taken aback at the offer, but after moment she clasped her hands in front of her chest. “How thoughtful. Are we going shopping for window dressings tonight?” 

 

Whit threw Severus a rather sheepish grin and twitched his shoulders up in half an apology before striding off to follow Conrad and Olivia. 

 

“Daft old fox.” 

 

Poppy patted the table. “You need to eat your breakfast. No use facing the rest of the day on an empty stomach.” 

 

Severus dropped into the chair and sighed, taking up his coffee mug. He could tell something was on Poppy’s mind. She always had been refreshingly blunt. Like a frozen bludger to the bollocks.

 

Drumming her fingers on the table, Poppy said, “So. How did your date go last night?” 

 

“Quite well, I think. You know, Poppy. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the state of the curriculum for students on sexual education. I have reason to believe that the students,” he cast a dark look at the door, “And regrettably, the staff are in need of better information. The material covered varies too greatly from house to house.” 

 

The elderly witch held her hand over her mouth, smothering a laugh before she primly replied, “That trio didn’t even have a Gryffindor involved, so you can’t blame me for this unplanned pregnancy.” 

 

Rolling his eyes, the Head of House Slytherin answered, “Don’t I know it. I won’t take credit for Lucius either as that would have fallen to Slughorn. Still, the boys should pay better attention to contraception. They need control of their reproductive destinies as much as any witch.” 

 

Pomfrey nodded, “And all three of those children are equally responsible. I’ve never heard of this happening, although it was on the qualifying exam. Textbook case, once in a lifetime. You’d better write a sharp note to Weasley before Olivia’s euphoria wears off. Our rogues can’t seem to decide who exactly is responsible so they’re sharing... ” 

 

Setting his mug down, Severus scrubbed at his eyes before he cut her off there. “Poppy, I really don’t want to know. Please don’t say any more.” 

 

“ _ I _ have to write the letter to the Ministry, explaining the situation to his Parole board so I’m not happy with any one of you at the moment. If there is anything I hate more than paperwork I don’t want to meet it.” 

 

Severus growled, “I had thought to enlist Connie and form a committee for the re-write. Now it seems unwise.” 

 

Poppy tittered merrily in response, “Well, no one would be able to say Rolle didn’t know how it was done. Great fool that he can be at times, finally tangled up in his own web. None of us are perfect, Severus. I am sure he will come around. He’s probably more angry with himself than he is at you.” 

 

“Quite, but unfortunately I make a better target.” 

 

The mediwitch looked at Severus speculatively. “You are keeping up with your wandwork, are you not?” 

 

“Constant vigilance, Poppy.” 

 

 

* * *

  
  
  


_ 31 December 2006 _

 

_ Severus,  _

 

_ Good morning, love. I had a lovely time last night, and I hope you did too. Shangri La was a lovely restaurant pick, and what a stroke of genius to have a backroom for Wizarding folk. That dividing beaded curtain was a masterpiece of warding work, I must find out where to buy such a thing from the owners. _

 

_ I feel that I have to apologise for my friends. I had no notion that Ron would show up with Moira and invite themselves to sit with us. Moira was embarrassed, but I didn’t see her at Christmas so it was actually a somewhat pleasant surprise. She is handling the pregnancy rather well, don’t you think? At least I know he won’t be dragging her to dance lessons today, or he’d better not try. I’d help her hex him if she asked. How did they find us, do you think? _

 

_ The dress you sent is exquisite, the fabric is softer than a dove’s wing. Shall I wear it tonight? Are we doing anything for New Year’s Eve? You know, I generally don’t handle surprises, but with you I find myself constantly astonished. I find myself retreating, off balance and wrong footed, but then my heart follows your lead and there I am dancing beside you.  _

 

_ Speaking of discussions, I’ve got a few things on my mind that I want to talk with you about. Maybe we will find time for it tonight? No need to worry, I promise.  _

 

_ I am looking forwards to seeing you again this afternoon. I am sorry I missed you at breakfast, I had some correspondence that could not wait any longer. You are a delightful distraction but I feel I need to earn that pleasure. I know it doesn’t make sense, but then again it does not need to. _

 

_ Love,  _

 

_ Hermione _

  
  
  
  


* * *

 

 

Hermione stared at her reflection in the wall-length mirror, copying the movements of the woman who was next to her. Narcissa Black was tall, graceful, and unerring in her movements. Stern with Hermione but not cruel, she already had led Hermione through the basics of foot placement, posture, and the role of hips and knees. 

 

Another woman was there, someone Hermione had never met, or at least never was never introduced to. She could have been Narcissa’s sister, although she was shorter. Grateful as she was that Narcissa wasn’t paying attention to her all of the time, she could not help but feel sorry for the woman. Olivia, wasn’t it? She made Hermione look graceful. Hermione, an expert student who was now also a teacher. noticed that Narcissa was spending more time frowning at Olivia than seemed necessary. Ultimately, she had made the woman toe off her shoes and practise barefoot and she did seem to improve then. 

 

At the start of the lesson, the witches and wizards separated for the first part. Hermione noticed that Severus, who had minutes ago seemed to be at least a good imitation of relaxed, was now tense and watchful. The class was larger this time, as Olivia had presented with Conrad, to Hermione’s surprise. Whit was there too, but he had indicated that he would be. 

 

Narcissa opened with some pieces of advice. “It is important to be comfortable in your own skin when you dance with others. You must trust your body and its instincts, and with the tango this is particularly true as that trust must also transfer to your partner. If a step feels wrong, it probably is so. Letting your brain do too much of the work fetters those instincts. The tango should be natural movements, calls and answers.”  Narcissa encouraged both of her pupils to relax and led them through a series of stretches to warm them up. 

 

Olivia made the mistake of addressing their teacher with overt familiarity, “Cissy, I can’t seem to get the backward…” 

 

“Narcissa or Madam Black, please.” The former Mrs Malfoy’s response was stiff, guarded. 

 

Stricken, Olivia held up her hands, “Oh. Of course, apologies. How stupid of me.”  She was rather subdued for the rest of the witch’s tango workshop. 

 

When they took a break, Hermione attempted to draw her out.  “So, you are here with...” 

 

Immediately defensive, Olivia turned away. Hermione could naturally see her expression, as the place was wall to wall mirror. The grimace was out of place. “Professor Rolle and Sir Whittington.” 

 

Brightening, Hermione looked across at the wizard’s group, her eye picking out Conrad’s form as he practised independently while Whit instructed Severus. Her friend was uncharacteristically quiet today. His laughing eyes were serious and it was very strange indeed. “Oh, have you known them very long?” 

 

“Are you always this nosy, Granger?” The sneer in Olivia’s tone tugged at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t quite place it. 

 

Unphased, Hermione said, “Well, I suppose so. I work with Professor Rolle, you see. Conrad is a good man.” It wasn’t clear to Hermione why she felt the need to promote Conrad to this sour witch but her instincts suggested it might be necessary. Determined to remain pleasant, she chuckled, “And Whit is a bit over the top at times, but he is basically harmless.” 

 

Hugging herself now, Olivia made no effort to engage Hermione directly. “And if I tire of good and safe dance partners, shall I try Severus Snape?” The two beat pause she left between Severus’ first and last names was noticeable.

 

Hermione bristled, “I am not in a position to speak for him. He may of course do as he likes.” 

 

Clapping drew the witch’s attention and all came together for a moment before students were paired up with experienced dancers. Hermione was matched with Whit, and Olivia with Severus while Conrad was paired with Narcissa. Andromeda was missing today.

 

Even Whit seemed to be serious today. He addressed her quietly, “Hermione, the nature of the tango is quite carnal compared to the foxtrot and the waltz. I want you to feel comfortable with me. If you need a break, tap twice and we will step away.” 

 

Heaving a deep breath, Hermione looked up at her instructor. He was barrel-chested, but shorter than Severus. His forearms were thicker, and his hands calloused. It struck Hermione that he was much more buttoned up than he was yesterday. The playful spark had been stowed away in a drawer somewhere and she divined nothing but patience there. Ducking her head, she said, “I think I am better today, sir.” 

 

The ghost of a smile passed over Whit’s face before he held out a hand to her. This part Hermione knew, as the position of her left arm was very similar to the foxtrot. Her right hand was dwarfed in Whit’s, and the pressure of his left hand on her back was firm, reassuring. “Let’s give it a whirl.” 

 

Music flowed from the gramophone that was still situated on the piano. Hermione’s first steps were stilted, and she was off balance quickly. “Set your heel down after your toe. You must have that stability, otherwise you will topple us both.” It quickly became clear that Hermione was not disengaging her brain; she was watching them in the mirror and the reverse image was throwing her off. 

 

It had been five minutes of struggle, although a quick look around told her that Conrad was not having an easy time of it either, and Severus’ expression was stony. Perhaps sensing Hermione’s growing frustration, Whit called over to his co-teacher.  “Blindfolds?” 

 

Narcissa was sailing about with Conrad and she threw Whit a resolute nod of understanding. “Piano bench.” 

 

Whit left Hermione standing off to the side of the room, and she got a glimpse of a steely-eyed Severus who was putting Olivia through her paces. She noticed that Olivia seemed to be mistepping and that forced her partner to retreat. Severus’ posture was correct, but stiff, his movements measured out as precisely as costly ingredients in the potions labs. She had no reason to believe this, but the woman seemed to be deliberately trying to irritate her partner. It wasn’t a tender, pretty dance. It was a Tango, where the only passion evident was anger. 

 

“Ah, here we are. Now, the idea is that you need to disengage your mind. I know that’s very difficult for you, but I think that if we can simplify things, you will do much better. You see, what your eyes see is almost always behind what you will feel from me as I tell you where to go.” 

 

Hermione was eying the length of silky fabric with distaste. “I think I understand, but I am not sure. How do I know what to do? I don’t really know the tango, you know.” She wrung her hands, dismayed to find she had broken out in a sweat.

 

Whit laughed quietly. “Oh, but you do. The tango is more freeform than other dances. Where other dances would fall apart if the partners remained still, this dance encourages the dramatic pause.” He held out the blindfold to her, “You will see. For the moment if we are doing something new I will talk you through it, but you must pay even more attention to the information you get from the way I move. Alright?”  

 

Surreptitiously Hermione wiped her hands on her shirt before taking the blindfold, tying it firmly in place. She tilted her head, listening to the music.  

 

“I am here, Hermione. Just step forward.” 

 

She held up her hands and moved, almost immediately encountering the warm solid wall of Whit. His hands guided her into position, and after standing a moment to listen to the beat, Whit started to move with her in a simple pattern. Slow, slow, quick-quick. Slow, quick quick, slow. There was a pattern but it wasn’t what she expected. There wasn’t enough consistency to hold onto. 

 

“You are doing well. Relax, Hermione. I won’t lead you astray.” A feminine sniff of derision from nearby didn’t phase her, but she was too focused on what she was doing for it to really register.

 

Hermione came alive to the reality that she was clutching at Whit’s shoulder with a vice-like grip. Unbidden, a small whimper of fear escaped her as Whit led her through a pair of 90 degree pivots. 

 

Whit danced backwards, perhaps sensing that she was off her axis, emotionally at the least. “Loosen your shoulders.” The forward momentum they built up was used as he passed her through, spinning her out to arm’s length before bringing her back in. The dizziness of the whip and whirl made her laugh nervously. 

 

Perhaps Whit took that as encouragement, or maybe it was the music’s pace and intensity picking up, “Heels down now, that’s it.” He was dancing her backwards again, and with the music then they paused, and he said, “Dip.” His hand was firm on her back, strong. She arched her back and leaned away obediently, albeit only a short distance. Her hands were slick with sweat but Whit did not let her go. 

 

After she straightened once more, Whit directed, “Again, but as though you were leaning back into a turn with the waltz at the Yule Ball, soften your back. Imagine you were swinging about a pole.” 

 

Hermione blushed and tried to do as asked. 

 

A low chuckle was easier to feel under her hand than it was to hear. “Fireman’s pole, of course.” 

 

Laughter bubbled up from under the steel-spring tight tension that gripped Hermione. 

 

“Ah, Severus has found a live one, I see. You know about those other, less reputable poles, do you?” 

 

“Hey!” She was hiccuping,  trying to maintain her composure.

 

“Telephone poles can’t help it if they are left out in the weather to decay. Not every pole can be made of shiny brass. Or be polished by scantily clad ladies in a very pleasant and personal manner, no doubt like the one you were thinking of just now.”

 

“You are a terrible man.”    
  


“So I am told. Now, that third group of poles has similar origins as the tango, you know. It is more romanticised as a dance, however it started as something much less socially acceptable.” 

 

Hermione had seen ‘The Scent of a Woman’ like most other red-blooded women of her generation having looked it up over a decade ago. The entry had her blushing up to her ears, “I’ve done some reading on the subject.” 

 

“Of course you have. Hermione, what this dance is about is restrained sexuality. To do it properly, you have to be...” 

 

Cheeks burning, she finished the statement for him, “Comfortable in my own skin. Yes, I know. Mother always said I was a late bloomer.” The piece was coming to an end, and Hermione mused to herself as they came to a stop,  _ I think I am coming at last to the summer of my life. At last. _

 

Whit squeezed her shoulder gently, “You have to feel safe with your dance partner as well. It takes two to tango.”

 

Hermione chuckled at the corny use of the muggle saying, but her mind was picking at the metaphor, holding her budding feelings for Severus up to the light for scrutiny. Compared to what she had known with others before, things with Severus felt different. It felt right. Like two pieces of a puzzle that slid together with an ease that suggested they had always been like that. She never wanted to let him go.    
  


 

* * *

 

Severus was grateful that Hermione could not see. Lucius…  _ Olivia _ was doing her worst to provoke him. If she was handy as a man, she had turned into an octopus as a woman. 

 

At first he tried to ignore it, but that only made her a more determined flirt. She was letting her left hand stray down to his waist and lower. He responded at first by trying to occupy her with rapid steps, using the dance as distraction. His irritation translated to quick turns that snapped with crisp precision. He sent her out to arm’s length when she started to stray again on several occasions. Then he sent her on a walkabout, but rather than coming all of the way about, she stopped behind him. This was a prescribed form, allowing the lady to lead, but it also left him open to pawing. 

 

He stepped away from her abruptly as her hand slid down his abdomen. Olivia was smirking at him when he executed a tight turn to resume his role as leader. 

 

“Madam, kindly refrain from treating my person with such familiarity. It is unwelcome.” 

 

Olivia’s mocking laugh was a promise that she had no intention of respecting his wishes. “Here I thought as old friends we were past such formalities. What’s wrong, Sevvykins? You made me this way. Don’t you like it?” She fluttered her lashes at him. 

 

“I had nothing to do with making you a prat, Livvy. That’s all you.” 

 

Tilting her head to suggest she was deep in thought, Olivia slyly returned that volley. “I suppose you were equally arrogant and high-handed as Veronica, weren’t you? Pity. I did like your hair better when you were a girl.” Somehow she had managed to snake her tentacle-like hand up his neck and she tugged his queue once, like they were school children. 

 

Praying for patience would have done little for Severus at this moment. “It is the same hair as well you know.” He whipped her away, thankful that she hadn’t seen fit to hold firm. When she stepped back out of the twirl, and they dipped down together, Severus growled, “What do you want of me, Olivia? For Salazar’s sake, put it to me and have done. I will not play games with you.”

 

The witch moaned at him, as though the rough handling he was using with her was just what she desired. It was all he could do not to jinx the pregnant witch. “Oooh, Sevvykins. What don’t I want of you?” She was smug about the whole thing! 

 

Anxious to not draw attention, Severus maneuvered Olivia into a sidelong promenade down the length of the floor. “Olivia, I have stood by you when no one else would. I think of us as more than mere friends. We are family, brothers in blood. I protected your son at great personal cost, not just because your wife asked me to take the vow. Draco is dear to me, as close to a nephew as I could ever have.” He was breathing hard as they turned about, coming back the way they came. “Think carefully before you proceed any further in antagonizing me. I love Hermione, and there’s nothing you can do or say to change that.” 

 

The song was coming to a conclusion and Severus lifted Olivia’s arm to send her spinning around, robbing her of the opportunity to try and climb him like a tree. “Make no mistake,  _ Lucius _ . That would include hexing a pregnant witch if I was forced to do so.” He grimaced nastily at his friend, “I imagine I could find something that would leave your body intact.” 

 

Expression shocked, Olivia stared at him as though she had never seen him before. She breathed, “You wouldn’t.” 

 

Using his height to full advantage Severus stepped toward Olivia, looming over her. He picked up her hand and bowed over it, lowering his voice to a deadly quiet. “If you know me half so well as you think you do, then you already know the answer.” 

 

He dropped the hand and turned away, wishing he’d never involved Lucius in his scheme. Standing there, staring past him in horror, was Narcissa. She was leaning against the wall and had a hand over her mouth.  Severus, unsure of how much she had heard, cleared his throat. 

 

Ice blue eyes swiveled from Olivia to Severus. “How?” 

 

Severus answered as quietly as could be, keeping his tone even so as to not draw attention. Yes, the instructor was giving them feedback, that is all. “Weasley Christmas Crackers. One in 50 has a choco-swinger in it.” Olivia remained silent. 

 

Confused, Narcissa pushed away from the wall, turning to regard Olivia. “But… isn’t there an antidote?” 

 

Stepping to the side, getting out of Narcissa’s way, Severus bit out, “Ask her. It is not my secret to tell.” Severus’ pleasure in dumping the drama back onto its source was premature.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the reflection of a blonde witch swayed gracefully, and it was the only warning Severus had before Olivia crumpled to the floor in a limp heap. Crossing the distance, Severus knelt to check Olivia’s pulse, all he could do before Whit and Conrad rushed over, shifting him to the side. 

 

Conrad barked at Severus, “What did you do?!” Fury was a rather alien expression on the wizard, strange and out of place. 

 

Severus held up both hands palm-out, “I have cast no spells and used no poisons on that witch. The strain must have been too much for her in her condition.” 

 

Narcissa was taking it all in, like a sponge. Her eyes darted from face to face, as if trying to decipher a runic text. 

 

Holding her abandoned blindfold in one hand, Hermione came over, her beaded bag in one hand. A series of muttered summonings brought forth a reviving draught, smelling salts, and a cool, damp cloth. Whit had straightened Olivia out, and loosened the buttons on her bodice before sitting and lifting her legs up. 

 

“Not that one,” Severus reached out to remove the potion from Hermione’s outstretched hand. He looked at Whit meaningfully and the older wizard’s expression tightened. Conrad had taken possession of the cool cloth and was laving Olivia’s brow and neck. 

 

At length, Olivia’s fair lashes fluttered open and she groaned. Lifting her head, she took in the little crowd with unfocused silvery grey eyes. “What?” She let her head fall back with a gentle thump after she spotted Narcissa. “Take me home, boys. I think we have all had enough for one day.” 

 

Severus stood back as Whit gathered Olivia up into his arms and turned to walk away. Conrad called over his shoulder, “Thank you for the lesson, Narcissa. We will be in touch.”  

 

The last fifteen minutes of the lesson dragged for Severus. He wanted nothing more to get away from Narcissa before she could demand answers.  The pregnancy was not his secret to share and such a confrontation would only make a huge scene. 

 

Hermione’s tango form was improving, and she appeared to be enjoying herself quite a bit. She was relaxing more, and she was growing more daring with her moves.  Severus’ thoughts were elsewhere, but he was able to muddle along enough to partner her. Severus let his body take the lead as the young man in the painting sawed out a jaunty beat on his cello. 

 

An awareness of Narcissa glaring holes in him had him on guard, but the bulk of his musings were dedicated to the problem at hand. Olivia had broken her cover spectacularly to Narcissa at least. Lucius was never particularly skilled at mastering his emotions, a trait that made him easy to read and manipulate. Severus’ heart sank as he contemplated the prospect of telling Hermione everything about Veronica. Well, it had to be done. 

 

Gods, how did he let this happen? 


	13. Chiffon Gown, Slimming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, dear readers. In honor of this Hallmark Holiday, I offer up a labour of love. Between [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) and I there must have been at least ten drafts of this particular chapter. Between the two of us we've put a lot of blood sweat and tears into this one, and we are looking forwards to moving beyond it. I suppose it makes sense that this chapter was so hard won. Nothing easy ever followed the phrase: "We need to talk."

Hermione knew something was amiss when Severus pulled Madame Black off to the side for a close discussion. She’d thought she would have time to change out of her dancing slippers and into her boots, but abruptly she looked up to find him picking up the slippers and pulling her to her feet. 

 

Yesterday’s lesson saw him running towards release. Now he was dragging her along behind him, intent on flying out of the Moste Noble Danse Studio like a bat out of hell. They’d not had time to settle on plans for after the lesson, and wryly Hermione assumed this was confirmation at least that he planned to include her. She was starting to get winded, her legs were much shorter than his long ones, and as much as she enjoyed this view of his arse - which was rather intriguing - she needed him to slow down. 

 

Clearing her throat, she made an effort at humor to break the ice, “Where’s the fire?” For surely, she’d like to warm her feet on it. 

 

When Severus swiveled about, looking for danger, Hermione was sorry and tried to explain. “I meant-” She had to pause to wheeze a bit before continuing, “Why are we running?” She looked up and down the street and took the dance shoes from him, having extricated her hand from his for the purpose. Finding a hedge with a gate she stepped into its shadow and after casting another look around to be certain she was not being observed, she slipped her shoes into her bag, dropping boots to the pavement.

 

Severus was not winded, but he seemed to be working silently on formulating an answer. “We need to talk.”

 

In the process of stepping into the boots, Hermione looked back up at him balefully. “I am glad you remembered, but honestly, there isn’t a need to be so alarmed.” She took a step towards him and recaptured his hand in her own. Perhaps it was the cold, but she felt the need to be closer. They’d not planned to be out of doors for long but it was very cold outside. “It isn’t that kind of talk I had in mind.” 

 

The pained expression on Severus’ face made her heart skip a beat and then run faster. He wasn’t going to break up with her, was he? She ran her mind over their interactions during the lesson, as something had changed in that two hours. He had been happy to see her earlier if the warmth of the kiss she had received on meeting him was any measure of such things. Nothing came to mind. She certainly was not overly familiar with Whit, and she had been assigned as his partner. Surely he had not grown jealous? She couldn’t be faulted for annoyance with Olivia, the witch had gone out of her way to be unpleasant. 

 

Puzzled, she tilted her head up and fixed Severus with an expectant gaze. When nothing was forthcoming she raised her eyebrows and started to tip her head side to side. “If you are trying to send me something telepathically, I think you are not using the right wavelength.” 

 

A tightening of his mouth was the most reaction she got. He was holding her hand tightly once more, and the intensity with which he was looking at her was starting to make her feel uneasy.

 

Frowning, Hermione glanced up at the darkening sky and shifted from foot to foot to try and warm up as her toes were starting to burn with the cold, in spite of her warm boots. The days were still quite short and the temperature was dropping. “Let’s go for coffee. I saw a shop last night.” She almost jumped out of her skin when he finally spoke. 

 

“I’d like privacy for this chat. I do have tea at my flat.” 

 

Grateful that he’d finally suggested something, she nodded. “Okay, let’s go.” The tension was uncomfortable and she wanted to get somewhere warm. “I think I saw an alley a bit farther on.” Not waiting for an answer, she maintained her grip on his hand and towed him along. 

  
  


* * *

 

Shivering, Hermione huddled on the same couch from yesterday. They’d been out in the cold air too long this time and the strain of expectation did nothing to warm her up. A quick glance about Severus’ flat took in the austere nature of the place. There were no photos, no rugs, no hearth, and certainly no blankets or throws. Good thing Hermione Granger was almost never caught out without her infamous beaded bag. If she had known they were going to stand in the cold, she could have pulled out cloaks, hats, and gloves for both of them. Severus wasn’t the only one who was off his game, she thought with a flash of annoyance. 

 

She’d toed out of her shoes and tucked her feet under herself before rummaging in her bag to pull out an ugly crocheted afghan that Mrs Figg had gifted to her that first Christmas after the war. She’d made one for every member of the order. This year everyone had received crocheted snowmen. Hermione had no idea what one was supposed to do with such a thing. Luckily the wool she’d used was every bit as warm as it was garish. 

 

A hand holding a green  _ World’s Best Teacher _ mug out to her swam into view and she accepted it with a groan of appreciation. 

 

“I’ve no milk.” 

 

She was already holding it up to her nose and breathing in the steam, appreciating it deeply all the same. A shiver ran over her as her limbs started to report back. “I am not picky. Remember, I survived on tea and the odd tinned pear for months with two growing teenage boys.” It was then that she noticed him preparing to sit in an armchair that was several feet away. “What do you think you are doing?” 

 

Severus had reverted back to the closed man she had seen the night after her parent’s house. He was aloof, and in spite of the improving heat an ice cold stab of fear made her shiver again. Eyes averted, he said, “I thought we needed to talk.” His eyes quickly searched her face before dropping down again. 

 

Huffing, Hermione patted the sofa beside her. “I expect my  _ boyfriend  _ to share body warmth. What do you keep the thermostat at here? Five?” 

 

Licking his lips, Severus took a few moments before he complied. “Boyfriend?” The query was quiet, uncertain. 

 

“I am still searching for appropriate words but that one keeps coming back like a bad penny. Is there a better one? Manfriend isn’t going to catch on.” As he settled on the sofa next to her, Hermione scooted closer to him, and tossed the end of her ugly blanket over his lap. He must have recognized the handiwork because his lips twitched at the sight. 

 

They sipped at their tea and Hermione melted into Severus’ bony side. She could still feel the whipcord tension in his posture and it worried her. She hated the idea that he was suffering again. They’d had quite a lot to absorb over the past few days and she couldn’t blame him if he was going into shock over it all. 

 

She mulled over how to start discussing her findings in the book about the shadow animals she’d seen him produce the other night when he broke the silence. 

 

“I need to tell you something, Hermione, and I want you to understand the intent behind my actions.” He wasn’t looking at her again. 

 

Shifting herself so she could see his face a bit better, she thought she could recognize some of the emotions written in the lines of her love’s face. Whatever it was, he appeared to feel remorse about it. Ah. A confession. “I will try to keep that in mind. Don’t tell me you knocked up that Olivia woman, did you?” Her tone was dry, perhaps harsher than she intended. 

 

She felt him tense in shock and his eyes widened as they sought out her face. “No, God no.” A small chuckle escaped him. “Not in a million years.” 

 

“Poisoned Mrs Norris?” 

 

He shook his head, looking affronted. 

 

“Burned a book?”

 

If possible, he looked even more offended. 

 

“Served me stale tea?” 

 

Shaking his head, he looked exasperated. “No. Nothing like that. Although it does have to do with Olivia, in a round-about fashion.”  

 

Hermione raised her Snape-certified fresh tea in salute. “Well, now we’re getting somewhere. She wasn’t particularly pleasant, was she? I saw her trying to get her hand on your arse. Shall I hex her next time I see her?” 

 

Severus’ eyes were closing, “No, best not. She is with child, but not mine. I will get back to that point in time.” 

 

Her heart had skipped a beat at the word “child,” and the assurance that it wasn’t his helped very little. When she opened her mouth to respond Severus held up a hand, staying her response. 

 

“I’ve done plenty of things of which I am not proud of in my life. You understand that I’d lived a lie for most of my adult life by the time the war ended. Perhaps that is what got a hold of my better judgement, or rather, allowed me to fall into this scheme of Rolle’s without considering the consequences later.” 

 

Intrigued, Hermione nodded silently for him to continue. 

 

“After... After that night when I abused you so thoroughly in the Great Hall, I realised I had made a terrible mistake, and that I had gone too far. Minerva made sure I knew just how wrong I had been when Rolle demanded I pay penance.” 

 

Frowning again, Hermione said, “They forced you to ask me for that dance, didn’t they?” A hard edge crept into her voice as she added, “I had thought so at first, but then…” She trailed off, not feeling fit to complete that thought. 

 

Shaking his head he forced out a sigh, “No, that was my own doing.”

 

Mollified, Hermione reached to squeeze his arm. “Well, that’s alright then.” She withdrew her hand when he looked over at her incredulously. 

 

“Let me finish. Please, Hermione. This is difficult enough without you interrupting. I’ll answer any questions you have, I swear it.” 

 

Heart sinking, she looked down at her tea. “I’ll do my best. Pray, continue.” 

 

“Rolle wanted me to make amends, to help cheer you up, but as I was clearly a thoroughly accomplished bastard there was no way you were going to accept anything from me. You wouldn’t even look at me after that night. So Rolle and I brought in Veronica.” 

 

Severus paused to float his tea over to a side table, letting Hermione digest that statement. 

 

“I thought you said... “ 

 

“Shh.” Severus turned towards her, and was actually looking at her directly now. Why would he bring her up? 

 

Hermione covered her confusion with another sip of tea. The mug was getting disappointingly colder as it was almost completely drained. 

 

He reached for one of her hands, “I had wronged you, hurt you so badly that I couldn’t be Severus Snape in your presence. I only meant to provide a day’s companionship and shopping, no more than that. Amusement, nothing vile or perverted, although I suppose from a distance it might seem that way. But as the day went on, I lost track of where she ended and I began. You however, were perfect. I regret that I couldn’t be more open with you that day. Although I doubt you’d have been able to bribe me with champagne to go into Twilfitt and Tattings as Severus.” 

 

Shock was coming over her. Surely he didn’t mean what she thought he was saying. Snatches of conversation were coming back to her. The penchant for black. Her cutting wit. The coincidence of Severus Snape appearing with a white rose in his lapel minutes after Hermione returned to find that box full of... Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

 

Perhaps sensing that he had little time left in this revelation to get to the point before she did, he continued on, “You know the potions that Connie uses to have her feminine days are sometimes entirely thorough. I had no idea that it wasn’t merely glamours that she used. She has it only for special occasions as the stuff is extremely expensive. It’s an area of potion making that never really garnered my attention until recently.”  He was babbling and he knew it. 

 

Hermione felt herself blushing. She’d been sitting in that flimsy white silk dressing gown and lingerie in clear view of Veronica, but she never got the chance to see much of Veronica’s underpinnings. “That... was you?” 

 

Severus’ eyes were averted now, but he nodded curtly in answer. 

 

“But I… “ She was remembering running her hands through Veronica’s hair, the immediate connection she felt with her. “And… she… um... you?” Frantically, she was running over the events of that day, every letter that she had sent to Veronica since, the meeting at the ball. That chaste kiss under the mistletoe. “I thought I had feelings for her. You. But you left.”  

 

Having unburdened the worst of it then, Severus murmured, “I did come right back, and apologize. As I should have done weeks before. I am very sorry, Hermione. I had no intention of leading you on.” 

 

Hermione leaned back, pulling away from him now. Confusion was being replaced with indignation. “ _ You _ didn’t respond to my letters. That was rude.” She growled, “And  _ you _ lied to me.” 

 

Severus bowed his head in acknowledgement, “I didn’t respond as I hoped you’d forget her. But you are right I did deceive you and for that I ask forgiveness. Recall that it was well meant and in circumstances where I could not find a better plan on short notice. Connie was very insistent on her little bit of fun.” A tight smile wasn’t nearly enough to convey the depth and breadth of the extremely discomfiting experience. 

 

Abruptly, some perverse part of her yanked her mind away from the embarrassing truths of how much she had fallen for him as Veronica. “But you and Lucius… how awful that must have been! He was all over you. Bloody parasitic jackass. I wanted to jinx him then and there, truly.” 

 

Severus’ expression was sour at the mention of Lucius sodding Malfoy. 

 

Before he could respond in any sensible fashion she gasped and then broke down into giggles. Between guffaws she managed to get out, “Neville.” Wheezing, she clarified. “Oh Merlin. What if Neville finds out he was dancing with Severus Snape. He’ll faint.” 

 

Snorting, Severus responded, “Might do, might not. He was very gallant with the witches that evening. Not bad as wizards his age go, really. I’d never have expected that of such a timid student with sloppy laboratory habits.” 

 

Hermione almost fell over. “You checked Neville Longbottom out!!!” She put down the empty mug as she watched for his response. 

 

Dismay stole the wistful expression away Severus’ face. “I did not.” 

 

She punched his shoulder. “Stop lying. You absolutely did check out Neville Longbottom and his broad, manly shoulders and his delightfully defined arse.” 

 

Severus was searching for words and ended up gabbling, “That is NOT what I noticed about Neville...” 

 

Ignoring him, Hermione pursed her lips in amusement, savouring the faint blush that crept up Severus’ neck. “Veronica Medici, you are an absolute tease!” She got up on her knees so that she was looking down on him as she adjusted her blanket. “You know I’m friends with him. He’s single. I could introduce…” 

 

“Don’t say it…” He had dropped his head in exasperation, hiding behind a hank of hair that had escaped the queue at the nape of his neck. 

 

“... you to his grandmother. She’s a snappy dresser I hear.” 

 

Raising his head with a growl, Severus lunged and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her down over his lap. “So eager to get rid of me?” He grinned at the surprised shriek she let out. Unplanned, his fingers tightened when she attempted to twist in his grip and to her dismay she screeched, betraying her extreme sensitivity to tickling. 

  
  


His deft fingers poked and tickled at her sides and she wriggled rather enticingly. “What was that?” A grin spread over Severus’ face as he played her ribs as though she were an accordian. 

 

“Ack… hee hee, stop…” Hermione was giggling now like a maniac and squeaking when he hit home on a particularly sensitive spot. “Hoo hoo. I was just envisioning tea at the Longbottom’s. They’ll have to be … ha ha… exquisitely polite. Ack! ... Bad luck to offend …EEK... a Poisons Mistress.” She managed to capture his hands in hers, her eyes shining and chest heaving, the rest of her erstwhile warning robbed of its conclusions by laughter. 

 

He leaned down and looked into her eyes, allowing himself to be restrained in her grip. “I have no interest in anyone else, Hermione.”  

 

He was entirely serious and a contrast to the laughing man she’d seen moments ago. Finding her breath taken from her for very different reasons now, Hermione found an unspoken question hung in the air between them. It was something of an impediment, and she felt her heart flutter in her chest as she started to panic. 

 

“Neither have I. I mean, interest in anyone else. Obviously I don’t find myself interesting.”  She was startled when he kissed her on the corner of her lips. “You are the one. You. And we need to talk about…” 

 

The kisses were warm on her cool skin, leaving tingling skin in their wake. A shiver ran down her spine as his breath tickled her ear, “About what, Hermione?” 

 

Hermione dragged in a breath and the cold air seared her lungs. Summoning strength and self control, she put her hand over his mouth, fending off what was becoming increasingly distracting attentions. “I need to tell you some things, and we need to talk about your mind magic.” 

 

As he sat up from where he’d been straddling her on the couch, he captured her staying hand to tenderly kiss her palm. Tension flowed back into his face as he shifted to the side, wincing. “Always practical.” His tone suggested that it wasn’t the complement it should have been. “Alright, proceed.” 

 

Twisting in her seat, Hermione straightened herself out, smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt as she composed her thoughts. “No doubt you have heard from rumor some of the details of my romantic past. It was not nearly as colourful as Rita Skeeter made them out to be.” Afraid, she darted a look at Severus to gauge his reaction before continuing on. 

 

“What? I don’t get to join your collection of pickled wizard hearts after all? I am disappointed, witch.” His brow was furrowed deeply as he watched her, and the power of that attention nearly undid her nerve. 

 

This time she couldn’t laugh. She slid off the couch, down to the ground with a thump, abandoning the warmth of the blanket in the process. She didn’t want to be comfortable. She laid her head on her knees and closed her eyes, focusing on the reassuring presence of the ground. “I… I have trouble. I can’t relax. My mind whirls and then I can’t forget that day.” She sniffed, heedless of the tears welling in her eyes. “Greyback’s there, and he ruins everything.” 

 

“I see.” His voice was level. No doubt he wasn’t sure of how to react. 

 

She looked up at him, “I’ve tried calming potions, teas for tranquility. Even outright inebriation. I convinced myself that if I could just push through, make new memories, that I’d be alright.” When he didn’t say anything she looked down, tears flowing in earnest. She didn’t want to cry now. Bitter anger began to seep in between her shame and fear. 

 

The heavy weight of the blanket she had abandoned moments before enfolded her in comforting warmth. Movement nearby alerted Hermione that Severus had slid down onto the floor next to her. His hesitant voice broke the crystalline silence that had formed between them, “Hermione, this is hard for both of us. I’d like to understand better.” 

 

Shaking her head, Hermione hiccuped, visibly making an effort to suppress the sobs that threatened to ruin everything. She was so tired of feeling this way. 

 

When she didn’t answer, he opened his arms to her. “Perhaps you would come over here?” He was leaning in her direction and had the arm nearest her propped up on the sofa, his other was held open, an invitation. His legs were laid out straight in front of him, bent slightly at the knee. 

 

After a moment’s hesitation, she scooted over to him, leaning into his side and rearranging the blanket so it also covered his knees. The shared warmth felt nice, and she felt him wrap his arm about her shoulders protectively. The silence between them stretched on for some time before she spoke again.

 

She didn’t want to look at him again; she was ashamed. He had enough of his own problems. He’d want to leave her for sure. “I… understand if this changes things. I just want you to be happy.”  She couldn’t bring herself to be more explicit, but he deserved happiness and she wasn’t sure she could give it to him. 

 

“Hermione. What makes you think I could be happy when you are hurting?” She heard him swallow and before she could answer he added, “Of all of the witches in the world, I can’t think of one who is more deserving of happiness. There certainly aren’t any others who have insinuated themselves into my heart as you have.” 

 

Deep inside her something broke and she started to cry. Embarrassed, she sat up and buried her face in her hands once more, pulling away from his warm presence. It was too much. How could she possibly explain how she felt? 

 

Regardless of what everyone seemed to think, she wasn’t that witch that everyone said she was. She was just a girl, who was rather clever and extremely lucky. Without the trappings of the war or the quest to end Voldemort’s reign of terror, the girl that was left behind was inept, lonely, and nothing particularly special. She’d worked hard for her post, for her Mastery, but that’s what it came down to: hard work. It made her feel worse when people expected some glowing heroine out of the ballads, with powers meant to solve every problem. There wasn’t a perpetual  _ Lux Solaris _ charm on her arsehole. Flowers did not spring up where she trod. She was far from perfect, and not only in the ways that had been thoroughly vetted by her peers when they were in school.  

 

The long list of her flaws started with what a glorious fuckup she was at the moment. Who does this? Who falls apart at the mere suggestion that someone might love her? Wasn’t this what she wanted more than anything? The weight of his hand was on her back, a gentle connection, grounding her and reminding her that she wasn’t alone with her self doubts and anguish. She sniffled and muttered, “A moment.” 

 

Number two on this list was how disgusting she was. Her eyes stung, her nose was running and she was sure she had turned all splotchy. Who likes the smell of brine and sweat? No one. She looked around, her practical overmind looking for something to blow her nose into. Absentmindedly she patted her pockets, her eyes casting about for her bag. A sigh of relief escaped her as she located it above her on the side table.  

 

Off balance and distracted, Hermione added number three to the list as she twisted out of Severus’ arm, catching him on his recently injured ribs, evidenced by a poorly suppressed grunt of pain. After she snagged her bag, she whirled back to apologise to the poor, abused wizard and found he had extended a square of black folded linen to her, anticipating her need. 

 

A fresh spate of tears answered the pained look on her love’s face. She accepted the handkerchief and pressed it to her face, willing her frayed nerves to uncoil themselves. Enough. She’d had  _ enough.  _

  
  


* * *

 

Severus considered the cold and empty mugs of tea, and discarded the notion of refilling them. Hermione was huddled against him and was slowly working her way through what seemed to him a long delayed cry. He didn’t mind too much; she filled his arms and mind with guilty pleasures. This was similar to conversations he’d had over the years with his students, although in those circumstances he’d always kept a professional distance. The particular familiarity that he enjoyed with Hermione was one that he dearly wished to preserve. 

 

But what could he do to help her? What words could he say to make her better? There was no spell for this, nor a potion sufficient to the purpose. 

 

As much as he would have loved to kiss her tears away, he wasn’t certain that such gestures were wise at that exact moment. His thoughts flew back to the years immediately after the war, specifically the mind healing that he’d been frogmarched through by well meaning supporters. Horace Slughorn for one, and it was a notion that was wholeheartedly embraced by Minister Shacklebolt. 

 

Severus had chewed up and spit out several healers who’d been naive enough to volunteer. In the end it was one remarkably steel-minded healer by the name of Rafael Chastel, on loan from the French ministry, who was able to build a careful rapport with Severus. Perhaps it was his obvious disdain for all things British, especially the Ministry and the handling of the war, or it was that the blessed man treated him like he was any other pathetic sod that made Severus warm to him. He wasn’t above exchanging congenial insults and sharing his cigarettes. Severus didn’t intimidate him, a refreshing change. 

 

Perhaps that was why Severus lost his grip on his mental discipline under extreme duress as the healer challenged him, prodding him to lose his temper. It was a massive mistake in his own eye, but Rafe met it with enthusiasm and called it an important breakthrough. The healer was a natural legilimens too, one who had been recognised from a very young age. In France this special talent was treasured and trained up properly - treated with respect rather than fear. It was a stark contrast to Severus’ own experience in the ‘Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’ rules of British Magical Society. Healer Chastel never attempted to invade Severus’ mind, only connecting upon that level with invitation on the rare occasion that words failed Severus, where it was too painful to go on.  Severus didn’t wish to remove any memories to a pensieve for perusal, not trusting the Ministry and the Aurors to respect his privacy. 

 

Rafe worked with Severus for the better part of two years. He never once suggested that Severus needed to be cured. Instead, he helped his patient grieve for what was lost. Severus was held up to a mirror, and the healer made him really look, stripping away the walls of Severus’ life that had defined him as much as they had confined him. Severus resisted him every step of the way, but Rafe actually approved of that. 

In Rafe’s final report, he’d stated that Severus had a long way to go, but he was confident that he would find his own way. He was no longer in danger of bleeding to death from the soul-deep wounds he’d received, self-inflicted and otherwise.  

 

Healer Chastel transitioned him over to the care of a grandmotherly old Healer by the name of Ruth Neissler. She would have gotten on with Neville’s grandmother like a house on fire. She was stern with him, and demanding at times. What she wouldn’t put up with was any abuse, and she had her ways of commanding proper respect. The witch was particularly skilled in shielding and her mind was like a sword, sharp and lacking any weak points. She left nothing exposed. She could take him when he was at his worst and most uncontrolled, and shut him down. She taught him restraint and mental discipline, something he had deluded himself into believing he had mastered.  

 

Looking back, he understood better that it was her job to push him forwards, and to thump him soundly when he started to feel sorry for himself. Her special brand of encouragement was rough, completely devoid of sentimentality, and utterly ruthless. That’s what he called her in his own head:  _ Ruthless _ .  

 

Now, what would Ruthless do? She’d probably tell him to pull himself up by his bootstraps and to keep moving one foot in front of the other. In fact she’d probably have served him his own liver on a platter after what happened the other night, or for any number of exceedingly stupid things he’d done in the past week. 

 

Movement at his side alerted him to Hermione’s return of attention. She let out a long shuddering breath before collecting herself. He could feel the resolve rolling off of her and he admired her strength. No, this wasn’t a lost girl. This was Hermione Granger, war hero and walking wounded who would survive, just like he did. 

 

* * *

 

Mother nature drew Hermione away from him and into the washroom while he rose from the floor stiffly to refill both mugs of tea, pulling out a sleeve of Penguins to share. 

 

They settled in together once more on the sofa, and he was mid-sip when Hermione asked, “What does Olivia have to do with anything?” He almost inhaled the scalding liquid in surprise, but as it was he managed to divert the flow to a more discrete choke, making his eyes smart with the shock of it.

 

Setting the mug down, Severus rubbed at his eyes before answering. “Olivia is what happened when I tried to get back at Lucius Malfoy.” 

 

The stunned look on Hermione’s face was fantastic. “But, why didn’t he turn back?” The cumulative horrors stacked up, and he could almost hear the bricks thunking into place. “She’s pregnant? But who would...?” Her hand flew to her mouth in shock. “No.” 

 

In spite of himself, Severus’ lips twitched up in a wry smile. He didn’t have to tell her everything in painful detail after all. He met her gaze levelly as she searched his for confirmation. “Sir Nott and Professor Rolle have taken a very particular interest in Olivia Malfoy’s wellbeing.” 

 

“Severus! No, I don’t believe you.”  

 

He jumped, disconcerted to see her shift from shock to anger.  

 

She put her tea down and her hands on her hips. “Now see here. You are telling me that you are responsible for Olivia?” 

 

Severus’ eyebrows raised, “Well, I may have encouraged Weasley to develop a new product, but how was I supposed to know that the blasted wizard would take to it like a duck to water.” He scowled, recalling just how much Lucius seemed to enjoy his feminine form. 

 

“AND NOW SHE’S PREGNANT??” 

 

Wincing, he answered in much calmer tones than he felt, “I had no idea that he would do such a foolish thing, Hermione. He’s an adult, and he’s decided to go through with the pregnancy.” 

 

Hermione threw her hands in the air. “How the fuck did that even happen?”

 

Unable to help himself, Severus started to chuckle. “I’m sorry, Hermione. Haven’t you met Whittington Nott?” He tilted his head to smirk down at her. “And I assure you, Connie is no saint, especially where Whit is involved.” 

 

The angry witch stalked up to him. “And you think its FUNNY?” 

 

Severus pressed his lips together, barely stifling his embittered mirth. “Fat lot of good it did to teach Livvy any manners. She was downright odious as a woman, didn’t make a bit of difference. What is it with Lucius and my arse?”

 

Arms crossed in front of her, Hermione glared up at him. “So what are you going to do about the situation?” 

 

Taken aback, Severus stared down at Hermione. “Whatever nonsense you’ve stuffed into that head of yours, I am not responsible for Olivia’s actions that night. She made decisions as an adult and is now living with the consequences, as are Whit and Connie, I imagine.” After several heartbeats he added, “I’ve offered to provide her with any of the potions she’ll need in the upcoming months.” 

 

“But…” 

 

Reaching out, Severus grasped Hermione by the shoulder. “She wants this child, Hermione. There is nothing to rectify. No cure is wanted.” 

 

“That was a stupid thing to do, Severus Snape.” She turned away from him and started to pace, and as she did so his heart felt like lead in his chest. “What if there are complications? What if Olivia dies because of this pregnancy? Have you thought that through? And what of the child? Can it possibly survive to term in this magically induced state?” She growled, “And what possessed George to be so thorough as to add a fertile UTERUS to what is supposed to be a mere gaffe?”  

 

Severus shrugged, “I guess it didn’t occur to Weasley that any man in possession of an untried vagina would run out and use it with the first likely wizard that happened by. Or wizards.” He couldn’t be made to feel guilty over this one, not a chance. “With great vigor. It is supposed to wear off in a few hours.” 

 

That stopped her in her tracks. “Why didn’t it?” 

 

“Magic.” 

 

Hermione tilted her head and frowned at him. “Don’t patronize me, Severus Snape.” 

 

“That’s exactly why. The healers think that Lucius’ magic recognised the sparks of new life, the babies within him, and exerted itself to protect them.” 

 

The witch’s eyes widened, “Babies. That’s...  _ amazing _ . Just think of the applications. Wizards who want a child of their own but lack the equipment might be able to use this.”  

 

Sighing, Severus turned back to his tea. “I rather think we shouldn’t put it about that this is possible. It could be a one-time occurance, a rare one that may never repeat itself. Olivia deserves her privacy and is already going to be subjected to daily tests as it is.” 

 

Sympathy darkened Hermione’s eyes. “That...that’s got to be awful.” 

 

“Olivia’s moving into the castle so we’ll be seeing plenty of her. I’d not press her for details if I were you.” 

 

Hermione’s face screwed up in real revulsion. “She groped you at the dance lesson.” 

 

“I know. What do you suggest I do? Hex a pregnant witch?” He didn’t mention that he’d essentially threatened to kill her and leave her as a husk to finish out the pregnancy. Lucius would have done the same, after all. 

 

“Let’s go on sabbatical. I’m feeling the need to write a paper on wild emotional magic. It will be brilliant!” 

 

“You’d run away, then?” He already knew the answer. “Albus did say they sorted too early.” 

 

That earned him a glare. “No, I’d just be tempted to.” She probably intended that look to be cowing, but he rather liked it. 

 

Clearing his throat, Severus made a gambit to get off of the topic of Olivia Bloody Malfoy. “I’d like to take you to a masquerade ball as it is New Year’s Eve. Tonight.” 

 

Hermione paused, her head tilted coyly up at him. “Is that so?” Her eyes flashed for a moment before she looked away. 

 

Ah, she wanted pretty words then? He got down on one knee, ignoring the protesting crack of his joints.  “Professor Granger, would you do me the great honour of allowing me to escort you to the Potioneer’s ball tonight?” 

 

Peevish, Hermione said, “What would you do if I said no? I am still angry with you. And Veronica.” 

 

He thought that she had gotten beyond that. He reached over and grasped her wand-hand in his and turned it palm-up. Half-moon indentations spoke to contrary as his unhappy fingers traced over those marks. He gently massaged the tension away, making little circles with his thumbs. “I would ask that you give me the chance to make proper amends. New Year’s Eve is a symbolic time for renewal after all.” 

 

“Maybe someone else has already asked me to a party? You  _ presume _ , sir.” She narrowed her eyes at him. She did not take back her hand.

 

Encouraged, he became more daring. “I would divine who had claimed your company and remind them of how dangerous a wizard I am.” 

 

The answering flash of irritation in his love’s eyes was felt as prick of panic’s knife, sharp and cold in his chest. She tilted her head at him. “So I have no choice, you will chase away all other wizards?” The faintest upward tug at the corner of her mouth gave her away. He saw her quick intake of breath when he found a stroke that she particularly liked. 

 

“You, of course, will always have the choice, but I will not make it easy for any competition. Would it please you if I staged a duel to win your favor?” He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her palm. “Shall I find another Lockhart and trounce him for your amusement? I would enjoy that, I think.” He tilted his head in consideration, “It might violate my parole terms.” 

 

A flash of distress was replaced quickly by her mask of haughty disdain. She pulled her hand away from him. “You are a git.” 

 

“Your git, though. You won, remember?” 

 

The signs of struggle were evident, her eyes softened, her lips twitched into a lightning quick smile before she forced it back into a frown. She reached down and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “What am I going to do with you, wizard?” 

 

Severus, still down on one knee, smirked. “You could allow me to escort you to the Society of Most Extraordinary Potioneers New Years’ Ball, for starters.”  The hand that grasped his shoulder released him, and she didn’t resist when he captured it in his hand. He watched that war wage further as he brought that lovely little hand back to his lips and kissed it tenderly. “I’d be at your disposal for the whole evening. You could send me to fetch your drinks. As many dances as you’d wish, all for the taking.” 

 

An answering smirk grew on Hermione’s face as he elaborated. “Severus Snape, at my beck and call. Will you be unpleasant as usual? It has been a long day already, it would be tiresome to find myself negotiating peace in your wake all evening.” 

 

Stung, he murmured into her hand, where he was kissing each knuckle now, “I will endeavour to be entertaining for you and reserve my biting wit for the unworthy.” 

 

Hermione lifted her eyebrows at him, a challenge. “Only taking up against the defenseless? Sounds like an ordinary bore of an soiree. Surely, you can do better than that.” 

 

“Witch, you wound me.” That didn’t get the response he was hoping for: she remained unmoved. “I’ll be on my best behavior, Hermione.” 

 

Her lips pursed in disapproval. “Don’t bend yourself painfully out of shape for me, Severus.” She stared at him, still waiting for something. 

 

What was left to be said? It came to him in an instant of inspiration. “ _ Please _ , welcome in the New Year with me, Hermione?” 

 

The smile was back, the devastating one from earlier. A frisson of joy washed down his spine at the beauty of it, making him shiver. “Yes, I’d love to go with you, Severus.” 


	14. Modulation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) for her valuable work as a beta on this chapter. Thanks also to readers like you! Comments and kudos are always appreciated.

A thrill of panic undermined Hermione’s joy. “What time is it?”  


Severus cast a quick Tempus charm which read eighteen past three in the afternoon. Anticipating her next question, Severus lumbered up from his former position, down on one knee before her. “The ball won't be until eight. Plenty of time. We need to organize masks, of course.”  


Timelines that had been settling calmly into place in her head fell apart. “It's a masquerade?!”  


“Just so.” A tint of rosy embarrassment developed on Severus’ ears as he went on. “I took the liberty of contacting an acquaintance whose theatre patronage gives her access to some of the best costuming artisans in London.” His lips twitched before adding, “I may have requested something specific but Madame Bulstrode assured me there would be a variety of options on hand.”  


Hermione stared back at him. She wasn't accustomed to having someone else think ahead. In fact, thinking about it, Severus had spent the better part of the past two days attempting to help her plan for tonight. He was doing these things for her.  


Misinterpreting her reaction Severus lifted her hand to his lips, kissing it before murmuring, “You could of course wear whatever pleases you. I did not mean to presume. I am already thoroughly bewitched, you understand.”  


Disconcerted by the intensity of the moment, Hermione attempted to summon a smile. “I find myself overcome. I will have to find the words at a later date. They have abandoned me, the cowards.”  


Severus searched her face, his black eyes impossibly darkened with concern. “Hermione, I only want to add to your happiness. If you would rather do something else, wear something else, you only have to…”  


Hermione cut him off there. “No, of course not. I very much want to spent more time with you.” Her mouth had gone dry and she licked her lips before adding, “More than I want to go back to the Bodelain and research more about your Patheus.” *

  

“My what?”

 

He seemed confused, so she clarified for him. “Your manifestations of negative emotion. I haven’t found anything so far in the library at Hogwarts, but that’s what I’ve been calling them in my head.”

 

“Ah. Of course.” Warmth softened his expression. “I suppose I should be flattered to have captured your academic interest.”  

 

She reached up and tentatively pushed back his hair from his face, as it had partially escaped its binding earlier. “You are fascinating, Severus Snape. I intend to study you in great detail.”  


Severus paused, stilling under her touch. As her fingers ghosted over the curve of his ear, he breathed in deeply. He leaned forwards, and instead of kissing her outright he gently touched his nose to hers, nuzzling tenderly. “You have that jar prepared?”  


“What?”  


Chuckling nervously, Severus’ voice rumbled low, and she loved the timbre of his laugh. “My heart is too full. I think it just might leap into your jar should you command it.”

 

Ah, humor. “It will have to stay where it is. I did not pack my new gloves.” She slipped her hand out of his grip and placed it lightly on his chest, where she could feel the poor enamoured organ knocking.

 

“I would like to kiss you, Hermione.” His breath was fragrant with tea.

 

They were still nose to nose, and she imagined she could feel the heat of his lips so near they were already on hers. “Brilliant notion. I endorse it with great enthusiasm.”

 

A swift intake of breath and a tilt of his head brought them together. The kiss was soft and sweet, and she found herself stretching up on tiptoe, pressing closer to her wizard in unconscious need. Hermione tasted his lips, the stringent tea fading to man.

 

It was not the first time they had kissed, but to her it was no less poignant. She’d shown him how damaged she was, told him her fears and he’d responded with understanding. He still wanted her, and oh how much she wanted him. She tried to show him with her lips, a tentative tongue and fingers that had started out gently caressing but were growing more bold and insistent.

 

At length, she could feel him slowing down, and reluctantly broke contact. Her eyes had closed and when she looked she saw regret pinching his brow. Reaching up, she smoothed those lines and said, “What is it?”

 

Severus cleared his throat. “I would continue here with you, but time is slipping away. We should get going.”

 

She shivered as she felt his fingers tracing down her jaw. It was cold but she’d forgotten in her distraction. A cloak would be welcome and truth to be told, she wanted something warmer to wear. She retrieved the beaded bag and popped it open, peering down into its depths before plunging an arm down to the elbow. Feeling around, she jumped as she touched on something pointy. “Ouch! Damnation.”

 

A shadow darkened her view as she retrieved her hand, putting her finger into her mouth as she shook the bag. The sound of something large knocking about with a metallic clang alarmed her wizard. “What the devil?”

 

Hermione shook her head. “I just wanted my favourite jumper.” She blushed as she explained, “It may have been too long since I’ve cleaned in there. “Ooh, careful!”

 

Wielding a lit wand, Severus peered into the depths of the purse, his expression souring. “You don’t have anything living in there, do you? Anything that bites?” He growled, “Old potions?”

 

Rather than respond directly, she pushed the bag into his grip. “Here. Hold this.” Waiting only a moment, she used her own wand and intoned, “ _Accio Jumper!_ ”

 

Severus had to lean back as five jumpers leapt out of the bag, at least two of them looking to be Molly Weasley creations. “Circe’s tears, woman. I had no idea of how much was in there.” It was a ridiculous step beyond the typical lady’s purse, filled with odds and ends couched in receipts and tissues in various stages of use or decay. He looked relieved to hand it back over when she gestured for it.

 

Hermione chose a soft lavender cardigan and unceremoniously shoved the other four back in before snapping the purse shut. “I’ll have you know this bag saved lives.” Her hand flew to her mouth as she realised her gaffe. “Oh.”

 

Severus’ brow climbed in surprise. He looked away for a moment, marshalling his thoughts it seemed, because when he looked back at her he said, “A fact that I am unlikely to forget.” His voice was constricted, and he whispered, “Hermione, I never properly thanked you back then.”

 

Sorry for mentioning anything, Hermione shook her head. “There is no need. Surviving and healing were thanks enough. I did no more than anyone else would have.” At his level look, she swallowed and qualified that further with, “Well, possessing the resources and theoretical knowledge necessary, anyway.”

 

“The medical portkey was a stroke of genius.”

 

Hermione cleared her throat. “That was a gift from Professor Dumbledore.” She paled, hoping she hadn’t scuttled the whole day by mentioning that name. “He seemed to think back in third year, after that terrible night in the Shrieking Shack, that we’d come to harm in spite all of the precautions taken to safeguard us. He made me promise to wear it always.”

 

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Well, even from the grave, Albus revolutionised magical field medicine. I hope they’ve managed to temper the strength of the force transference. The restraining charm kept me from bending, but it was incredibly painful to land.” His eyes were unfocused, looking into the horror of the past, no doubt.

 

She reached out and captured one of his hands in her free one. “I’m very glad you lived. I know it wasn’t what you had planned for yourself, but I needed you to live.” She swallowed, “Selfish reasons, entirely, you understand.” She shied away from mentioning how much Harry seemed to need it too. Severus Snape was a connection to his mother, and one who he had wronged repeatedly. It was much better to reconcile with a living, breathing man, than it was to find closure with a cold marble tombstone. Even if the man was a mean-spirited, ungrateful bore at the outset.

 

Cocking his head, he arched his brow in disbelief. “You would have missed the insults and disdain for your academic lack of restraint?”  

 

Humor rescued Hermione, although she suspected he felt it too. “I always lived for a challenge.”

 

Shaking his head in bemusement he said, “I am a different man now. It took me years to come to appreciate the gift that was granted me. I should have died that day, and I had made peace with the idea, craved it even. You walked all over those plans, and but for your stubborn Gryffindor arrogance I’d be long gone.  So thank you, Hermione Granger.”

 

Tears threatened to come once more, making her eyes sting. “Not so entirely different, Severus. You are still a good man, brave and true. Perhaps it is we who changed with better understanding.” She sniffed. “Listen to me, sentimental and prattling on. I’m sorry. I’ve never been particularly good at editing my discourse.”

 

Severus gathered her into his arms, and she could feel the tension bleed out of her shoulders and back. “A simple ‘You’re welcome’ would do.”  After two beats he added, “But I find myself enjoying listening to you burble on. You know me. I won’t hesitate to cut you off.” He waved a hand in mock royal permission, “Feel free to continue to expound on my better traits if it pleases you so much. I will attempt to endure it with equanimity. Although I am concerned that you are rather biased. Other sources will most likely conflict, and where will your thesis be?” A wicked smile played about his eyes, challenging her.

 

A hard edge entered her voice as she replied, “I shall have to gather a mass of refuting evidence. I don’t think it will be impossible.” She flashed a fierce smile at him. “You aren’t in Azkaban, if you recall. There must be sufficient supporting arguments to counter the reams of ill will you cultivated  with such finesse.”  

“You cannot make me a wholly blameless paragon of the light, Hermione. I am still the same dangerous snake you knew all those years ago. I haven’t lost my teeth.”  

 

Wincing at the memories evoked by the mention of snakes, Hermione cleared her throat. “I have no intention of making you into anything, Severus. Neither of us is perfect. I’d not have it any other way. Now, I insist that we get on with it. I have a date with a devastatingly handsome wizard tonight and I have preparations that need to be made. We’ll have to shelve this for now.”

 

As he helped her with her cloak and opened the door he said, “Tell me about this fellow.”

 

“He’s tall and dark.”

 

“And handsome, you said?”

 

“As you say. And he’s a wonderful dancer.”

 

“I loathe him already. What a cad.”

 

“Well, he is also very intelligent, and well read. And he has a wonderfully wicked sense of humor.”

 

“Intriguing. Perhaps you could introduce me? I have some interesting etchings of rare Asian herbs he might find interesting.”

 

“Severus!” Hermione’s tinkling laugh spilled out into the hallway before the apartment door closed behind them.

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione held in her hands the mask that Severus had requested for her, chewing on her lower lip. Nearby, a snippy wizard stood, awaiting her judgement on the piece. The fur on the mask was soft, putting her in mind of the spot on Crookshanks’ neck that he loved to have scratched.

 

Severus had accepted his original selection without even trying it on, and was deep in discussion with an elderly witch, rifling through an assortment of cloaks and other accessories.

 

Chewing on her lip she glanced up at the wall where a jaguar mask was on display. She pointed to it, “Good sir, might I try that one?” The lioness in her hand was lovely but put her too much in mind of that ridiculous hat Luna wore to Quidditch matches back in school. Besides, she’d no wish to be reminded all evening of her house alliance or her unruly mane of hair.

 

She handed the lioness back in exchange, and held up the mask to her face, trying it on. The thing immediately moulded itself to her face and she felt the piece extend around her ears as well. Cold fingers picked at her hair, and she realised the attendant was helping her.  

 

“If Madam would step over to the mirror?”

 

Hermione let out a huff of pleasure as she caught sight of herself. “Wow. That’s really... detailed.”

 

The wardrobe wizard’s expression softened as he looked back at her in the mirror, standing right behind her. “If miss would note, the ears are fully enchanted to reflect the wearer emotions.”

 

Sure enough, her ears pricked straight up and she giggled. “Well, I always did wear my heart on my sleeve. Please tell me it doesn’t purr for me as well.”

 

A spark of humor showed in the man’s eyes as he replied, “Of course not, Madam. Shall I find the tail for you?”

 

“Oh, is there one? Would it be in the way for dancing?” Hermione bounced on the balls of her feet, hard pressed to contain her excitement. She thought to the silk dress back in her rooms, given her that very day. It was a daring strapless number with a fitted bodice of crimson material, and skirts composed of layers of dyed fabric that would flutter as she moved. Each piece resembled an individual lick of flame. She had tried it on that morning, and ordered a set of opera length gloves to go with it in a deeper crimson satin, a pair that she’d seen when they were shopping in Diagon. It was a good thing the store was open today.

 

Sniffing in derision, “All of our creations are charmed to behave as though they were alive. It won’t swing around like a dead snake, Madam.”

 

It was perhaps fortunate that the thoughtless wizard’s head was obscured within the cabinet on the wall where he was searching. Severus had turned around with a scowl, which was arrested by the sight of Hermione in her mask. Whatever scathing retort died within the sharp teeth of his reaction to her transformation. Hermione could see the change, felt the flash of admiration as it bled through. It took a moment, but under her mask she flushed in response.

 

The two attendants may have felt it too as both of them had paused, their heads wrenched around from their tasks to cast knowing looks at the pair of them.  

 

Clearing her throat, Hermione broke eye contact briefly with the intense wizard who she loved. “Won’t you be trying yours on, Severus?”

 

She saw the feral grin as he answered her. “No.”

 

“Why not?” Hermione bounced on her toes again, not quite realising that she was doing it.

 

Severus turned away from her, canting his hips to shift his weight, slipping a hand into his trouser pocket. Hermione was about to open her mouth to tease him further when he finally gave a reason, “Time constraints.” He turned to look back at her once more, steadily meeting her gaze once more.

 

Anxiety flared up in answer. “Oh, of course.” She looked over towards the rummaging wizard, trying to determine if he was making headway. He had ducked his head back in the closet and she saw that the hand holding the door open was clutching what very much looked like a tail, complete with spots, not dots. She took a step closer, and was in a position to look over the beleaguered man’s shoulder. “Is that the one?”

 

Voice muffled, the answer floated back to her, “Yes, there was a collar around here somewhere that would look charming…”

 

Shocked, Hermione cut him off, “Oh no, that won’t be necessary. I’ll just take the tail if you please.”

 

The smirk from Severus was so pronounced she swore she could hear it. Refusing to allow him the point, she stepped away, giving the wardrobe wizard room to close it all up, before he handed her the tail. She snatched it up quickly and then tapped the mask twice with her wand, bidding it to release from her face.

 

The witch who had finished with Severus’ requests took the mask and tail from Hermione, “One moment, dear.” Hermione chanced a glance at Severus, who had suddenly found something about the ceiling rather fascinating.

 

She took the opportunity to admire the long, lean figure. He’d come a long way from the shade he was eight years ago. The white shirt and black trousers from the dance lesson earlier had been covered over in a short jacket, with a scarf hastily wound about his neck. The scar still was visible beneath the green silk, but the bulk of it remained hidden. He’d not reacted well to the first time she had touched it. It was a conversational tool that he’d no wish to use and she understood that. She imagined it couldn’t be any more comfortable to display to a thoughtless public than her own ruined arm was for her.

 

A package gently nudged her and she turned to accept it from the witch. “You have a lovely time, dear.” The pleasant woman’s sing-songy voice dropped to the danger zone in dire warning, “And don’t you dare let anything happen to these masks. It takes over a month to make each one between the artistry and the charmwork.”

 

Reverently, Hermione responded, “But of course. It will be our honour to display your work tonight.”

 

Beside her, the thin man answered, “Yes it will. Off you go. We’ve more patrons on their way, so if you don’t mind…” The wardrobe wizard’s aloof manner had returned and he was shooing them away like a pair of flies.

 

Severus offered her his arm and they exited to the back street that was the employee entrance for the theatre. No tantalizing smells here, mostly dirt and rain dominated the city streets in the cold winter. The sky was darkening, and this lent urgency to their steps as they approached the apparition point.

 

“Dinner?” Severus was looking down at her, and the intensity was back. It made her shiver.

 

Her voice sounded small, strange in her own ears. “I have things to do, it seems.” Her fingers clutched tightly on the package, the hand tucked into the crook of his elbow aching with the effort of not applying a death grip. Feeling as though she had to explain, “It would be more efficient to just get something back at Hogwarts.”

 

Perhaps realising that he was staring, Severus looked around, scanning for innocent eyes from which they must hide their retreat. He swallowed before saying, “I can take us back directly.”

 

Hermione nodded silently, taking a moment to close her eyes, focusing on the warmth of Severus’ arm under her hand. She leaned into him, and couldn’t control a tremble.

“Hermione?”

 

“S...sorry.”

 

Severus shifted, peering down into her averted face. “What can I do?”  

 

She couldn’t answer him. She had no idea of what to say, but she could sense the unease growing between them. A spark of anger flared to life inside her as she grappled with her fear and pain. This isn’t the way it is meant to be. She loves, she is loved in return, she should be happy not afraid. Abruptly, she looked up at Severus and willed him to understand. “I need to get past this. I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I don’t know how to go on. I want to be with you more than I can say.” Her eyes were leaking again and that only seemed to stoke her frustration.

 

A deep sigh answered her, and a gentle hand lifted to tuck a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. His voice was tight, pained, as he answered, “You need help, Hermione.”   

 

“What?” The ground below her seemed to drop away, and her heart fell with it. Strong hands held her upright as she swayed. Was he leaving her? Self-disgust gripped her. Who would want such a broken woman, after all? It stood up to reason.  She pulled back, trying to escape those hands, but her knees were rubbery underneath her. A detached part of her speculated that she’d been the unwitting victim of a jelly-legs jinx.

 

“Hermione! Love. Look at me.”

 

Shaking her head she pushed her package at him. “Here. I guess I won’t need this after all.”

 

He held firm. “Look, you foolish witch. You are willfully misunderstanding me!” His voice was low, growling. It aroused her, but at the same time the accusation redirected her anger towards him. Before she could say anything, he went on. “We need help. I should have said that. _We_ need help, as we are surely in this together.”  

 

His grip on her shoulders loosened as she straightened. She couldn’t very well refute that statement, but it confused her. “But you… this isn’t your problem. It’s me. I’m just no good at this.”

 

Severus tilted his head to the side and looked down at her sadly. “Hermione, your problems are mine as much as mine are yours. Would you walk away from me after we have been through so much already? I have no intention of giving up on you, so it would have to be your choice.” He swallowed. “I… would wait for you, if you needed time. But I don’t think that would solve any problems, love.”

 

Package forgotten, Hermione stepped up to Severus and bowed her forehead to his chest. “N-no. Please don’t go.” Her free hand reached up and gripped his jacket, white knuckled she held on for dear life. She shook her head again, “Don’t leave. I want you to stay.”

 

“I’m yours, Hermione. I won’t leave you. Remember? You won.” Strong arms wrapped around her and she felt his breath warm the top of her head, so much taller than she he was.

 

She was surprised into a chuckle. It was a briny, goopy, eye stinging reflexive giggle. “I don’t think that I will ever tire of hearing you say that.” She sniffed. “Bother. I’m disgusting again.”

 

He released one arm and used his wand to conjure a black square of linen that he handed to her. “Never. You could be covered in bubotuber pus and I’d still find you attractive.” After a half beat, he added, “It would be an excuse to wash you off.”

 

That made her laugh more, so encouraged, he went on, “Flobberworms in your hair wouldn’t send me running.”

 

A squeal of revulsion escaped her lips. “Severus!” She could see worry and hope mingled in his eyes as she looked up at him, so close that she was very nearly cross-eyed.

 

“Tears wetting your face because you want to feel better and not scared, because you are angry at being fettered by your scars, because you are afraid of losing me, well. These would never repulse me.  Distress me, perhaps. But I am loyal and in love with you.”

 

She wiped her eyes again, before swiping at her nose. “So what can we do?”

 

Lips curving up in response, Severus said, “Tonight, we dance. Tomorrow, I will make inquiries of my mind healer.” His gaze became abstracted. “I am not sure if she is the right person for this.”

 

Shame started to creep in. She should have been more controlled. She dropped her forehead to his chest again. Then a rather important detail came to mind. “I’m supposed to meet Ginny and Luna.”  

 

“What time?”

 

“Six thirty. At Hogwarts, my room.”

 

“Merlin’s beard! We had better get along then. Can’t leave Mrs Potter idle, she’ll winkle our secrets out of the house elves, and Miss Lovegood will infest your chambers with something strange. No doubt she’s taken over your desk, festooning it with garlands of dirigible plums.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: * "Patheus" is what Hermione's named Severus' manifestations of negative emotion, seen in Chapter 8.


	15. Three Witches Bathing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Havelocked for her help in beta-ing!

The ladies were waiting for Hermione, and were suitably surprised and impressed as Severus apparated them to the hall immediately outside of her room. He bowed over her hand and kissed it formally, retreating to prescribed social forms in the company of others. After he bid them a good evening, all three watched him stride down the hallway away from them, mesmerised.

 

It was Luna who broke the trance that had fallen over them. “Well, he’s improved considerably.” Her uncanny attention switched over to Hermione. Taking in the red-rimmed eyes and blotchy face, she smiled gently at her friend. “I think he really likes you.”

 

Ginny snorted. “Well, he’d better treat you right,  or he’ll find himself shitting splinters for the next century from the bowels to broomsticks curse I’ve been saving up just for this sort of occasion. Extra polish, just for him.”

 

“Well, that’s rather more fiber than one needs from their diet, Gin.” Hermione’s answering smirk belied her flat, serious tone.

 

Luna laughed her head off, as though they’d said the funniest thing she’d ever heard.   

 

Unconvinced, Ginny searched her friend’s face. “Hermione, you know what an arsehole he is, right? He’s never had a healthy relationship with a woman that I know of. Have you considered that this might be a passing thing?”

 

When Hermione shook her head, Ginny continued, “You are the kind of witch that is always in things for the long haul. You are loyal to a fault and you give too much of yourself too quickly. I’m afraid that he won’t be able to meet you on the same level.”  

 

A cool hand captured Hermione’s. Luna studied her palm intently in the dim light. “That is an impressive love line.”

 

Hermione had to control an impulse to pull away from Luna, her mind engaged more fully in defending Snape. “Severus is more capable of commitment than most wizards. Think about it. He loved Harry’s mother all of those years and at great personal cost he fought for Harry because of that love he held for her, even though it was never requited. Two decades of such dedication isn’t enough for you, Gin?”

 

Ginny shook her head, “He was a bad match for Lily, it was entirely one-sided. Even so, he hurt her badly. She thought of him as a brother, as best I can figure. You can’t tell me that’s a healthy relationship.”

 

Raising her chin in defiance, Hermione spoke stiffly, “I understand that you don’t approve, Ginny. Severus has a deep capacity for loyalty, and he says he loves me. I love him in return. I don’t expect that he is perfect, Merlin knows I’m not.”

 

Luna was still standing and stroking the lines on Hermione’s palm with cool light touches, radiating serenity. In that moment, Hermione adored her for it. “Let’s get ready for the ball, Hermione.” Luna had a bag slung over her shoulder from which a few pink feathers poked out through the canvas enticingly.

 

“Oh! Are you coming too?”

 

“Neville invited me. I’m going as a Pink Parisian Fwooper.” She let go of Hermione’s hand to adjust the bag, looking rather proud of herself. “I’ve been working on the costume for days.”

 

She looked over at Ginny who shook her head ruefully. “Harry and I have a different function to attend, something sponsored by the Magical Games department. It doesn’t sound like it will be quite as much fun, actually.” She stepped over to prod Luna’s feathers. “Although I hear they are unveiling a new model of Nimbus brooms.”

 

Luna trilled in anticipatory delight. “The  Society of Most Extraordinary Potioneers always has the best parties. You wait and see, Hermione.” Perhaps she was practicing her birdsong for the evening, it was annoying.

 

The redhead shrugged. “I still have to get ready.”

 

Hermione brightened. “The Headmistress gave permission for us to use the Prefect’s bathroom.” She looked out the window at the dying light of the Scottish sunset. It wasn’t worth marking beyond its temporal significance.

 

“But we’d better hop to it if we don’t want our dates arriving to find us still half-naked.” Ginny’s smile suggested that she’d seriously considered it as an addition to her evening.

 

“Hmm.” Luna looked sideways at Hermione. “Professor Snape wouldn’t be much sport but I imagine Neville would be shocked. He’s so cute when he gets flustered.”

 

Shaking her head at her friend, Hermione shifted her wrapped costume to her left hip while she unlocked her wards with her right hand. Ushering her friends inside, they deposited their burdens before the merry witches three made the hike to the baths.

 

Eighteen minutes later and they were settling into the gigantic tub of the prefect’s bathroom. Ginny mused, “You know, it is rather interesting that the castle has one of these for students, but none for the faculty. Strike you as strange?”

 

Luna was sitting directly under one of the taps, covering herself in thick suds. Laughing, she replied, “Yes, do tell us, Hermione. There must be some sort of perk for the teachers.”

 

A quiet snort preceded Hermione’s answer, “The junior faculty accommodations are comfortable enough. I’ve never needed more. Nothing like what Professor Slughorn had”

 

“Didn’t see your washroom, though. Is it anything like this?” Ginny was floating in the middle of the tub, collecting bubbles about her.

 

Hermione scrunched her nose, swiping a drop of water off of it. “Not even close. But I prefer something small and cozy. I don’t have any complaints. I imagine Professor Rolle has a nicer setup than I do, but he’s got expectations.”

 

Languidly, Luna stood up and stretched, allowing her thick coat of suds to slide off of her. She had an unconscious sort of grace that Hermione admired. Her penetrating glance discomfited Hermione before she asked, “And Headmaster Snape’s bathing accommodations, have you taken the opportunity to examine those?”

 

Sinking down to her just below her chin in the water, Hermione shook her head. “We’ve only been seeing one another for…” She did a quick calculation in her head, “Ten days now.” She tilted her head back, submerging her hair, letting it get completely wet, “Unless you count from our first shopping trip, but I wouldn’t expect that counted.” She grimaced, recalling how badly that day ended.

 

Always quick off the mark, Ginny chuckled. “Ask about his Library, Luna. That’d be Hermione’s first point of evaluation.”

 

Pretending to have not heard, Hermione ducked her head under the water to hide a flush of embarrassment. After holding her breath for a count of ten, she surfaced and made for the edge where she’d left her soaps.

 

“I think they are very sweet together, Ginny.” Luna was relaxing against the edge now, in no particular hurry.

 

Hermione could sense Ginny’s approach, so she was not surprised when the witch’s voice was so close to her ear. It carried through the room as she asked, “So, have you managed to undo all of those buttons one by one, or are they just for show?”

 

A gasp of indignation escaped Hermione before she answered, “I am sure I wouldn’t know!” Yet. It was on her list of things to investigate. She looked forwards to undertaking a thorough study of these details and more. The reason for why she hadn’t gotten farther with her research surfaced to the front of her mind.

 

Tsking from her other side preceded Luna’s commentary. “Wrackspurts.” She shook her head and waved her hand, as though shooing something away that only she could see. “More than usual, Hermione. Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Holding her shampoo in one hand, Hermione found herself speechless. Every time she tried to formulate her confession, it sounded ridiculous. She opened her mouth to deflect her friend’s concern, but the sad, knowing look that Luna fixed her with turned her tongue to wood. It didn’t feel right to lie.

 

A pale hand reached over and  gently tugged the bottle free. “I’ll do that.” It was Ginny, and Hermione felt after a moment the cold of the soap before fingers followed to massage it into her thick, unruly locks.

 

The three girls sat in a companionable, subdued silence. Hermione rubbed at the scars on her forearm, and after a moment Luna reached over to pull that hand away. She spoke into that silence, “That still pains you?”

 

Feeling that this was a marginally safer subject, Hermione sighed. “Yes. As good as it will get, or so say the Healers.” She snorted at the memory, “Connie asked me if I’d thought about getting it tattooed.”

 

A delighted smile lit up Luna’s eyes. “That’s an interesting idea. You could write over it with something you want to remember. Like your birth-date. Or perhaps a star-chart so you wouldn’t get lost.”

 

Diligent fingers continued to rub out tension from Hermione as Ginny continued to work up the lather. “Charlie’s covered in tattoos of dragons and they are pretty amazing. Mum absolutely hates them. What about runes, like Sirius had?”

 

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Those were prison tattoos, Ginny. Some of them possessed weak warding magick, but he managed them all from memory using soot and a sharp instrument. Lucky for him he was a quick study, but honestly he could have done a lot better given proper resources.” She sighed, “I never really had a close look at all of them, truth to tell. I wondered…”

 

Luna splashed playfully at Hermione, getting her cheek wetter. “Don’t let your boyfriend hear you.”

 

“Or Harry!” Ginny withdrew her hands and commanded, “Dunk your head.”

 

Hermione always had loved to swim, and it was a pleasure to escape under the water. She turned back to face her friends as she reemerged. Her hair needed more rinsing, although she thought she saw Ginny and Luna sharing a look as she dived back under.

 

Ginny had raised her arms to lather up her own hair. Her breasts were visible through the fading foam, buoyed up in the water. Her boyish figure softened after James was born, and she’d been quick to praise the effects of motherhood on her bust.

 

Hermione hopped up to sit on the side, her legs dangling. The room was warm and steam rose from the water. She gestured Luna over, “I’ll do yours if you like?”

 

“Thank you.” Luna glided over and fished her own particular bottle out of her bag, handing it up to Hermione before settling between her knees, facing away. “You and Headmaster Snape looked rather taken with one another at the Yule Ball. I saw you dancing, Come to think of it, I thought you didn’t like flying.”

 

Shrugging her shoulders, Hermione worked the strange smelling thick white soap into Luna’s baby fine hair. “Well, he didn’t exactly discuss it with me ahead of time, and he’d apologised so prettily that I didn’t notice.” She blushed, “It was rather marvelous casting. I wonder…” Her eyes lost their focus and her hands slowed as she consider that it might happen again tonight.

 

A splash from Ginny’s direction broke that train of thought. “You’d better wear your best knickers, then.” She flashed a wicked smile. “For the benefit of the crowd, of course. No other reason.”

 

Troubled rather than amused, Hermione’s hands worked at Luna’s scalp once more, tracing in lazy spirals. She must be doing a fair job as Luna let out a pleased sigh before adding in her two knuts.

 

“You’d have to have them off for sex, I see your joke.” Her laugh had a odd snorting sound to it. It had always been that way. It echoed hollowly within the tiled bathroom.

 

Ginny peered up at Hermione, her gaze calculating. “Hermione. You know I’ve no interest in details of anything to do with my brother the bedroom, but how far have you gone?”

 

“I am not a virgin, if that is what you mean.” Her voice was defensive, sharp edged.

 

Luna tilted her head. “Come to think of it, I don’t remember you talking about any love affairs.” No, Luna had never asked that of her before, although she herself had been uncomfortably open about her love life. At times in exquisite detail.

 

Stammering, Hermione said, “I’ve not been that lucky, Luna.” She knew she should be admiring her friend’s resilience rather than using it as a measuring stick for her own hurts and failures, but she never could understand how Luna had come through everything so remarkably unaffected.

 

Pursing her lips, Ginny opined, “Been reading up, I bet.” The answering blush heated Hermione’s ears and cheeks together. Ginny didn’t wait for denials, “I see you have! You do know that it is okay to learn as you go.” She chortled slyly, “I imagine Professor Snape would make a rivetting teacher. What would you say, Hermione? More interesting than that dry old potions curriculum?”

 

“I’ve only had a chance to look at the syllabus. It is ... quite extensive.” Hermione was studying her knees with intensity.

 

Ginny was doing a poor job at keeping her giggling under control and she crowed, “What’s this? You haven’t read all of the assigned reading twice before term starts?”

 

Luna’s serene voice cut in before Hermione had to answer. “She’s doing private lessons, Ginny.”

 

Feeling uncomfortable, Hermione considered her company. Ginny had thought herself in love with the ghost of Tom Riddle years ago. Luna had endured as a hostage under Lord Voldemort’s cruel dominion. “Did … did either of you have problems? You know. After the war. With boys.” Augh. One of the most accomplished and articulate witches around, Hermione’s wits were abandoning her in her anxiety.

 

“Yes.” It was Luna who answered.

 

Deep down, Hermione had secretly hoped that it was so, that she wasn’t alone. In spite of wanting that validation, she was immediately ashamed of herself for bringing it up. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t…”

 

Luna went on, interrupting her, “It isn’t easy to try and learn on your own. I’m glad you’ve found a study partner.” She quirked a little smile. “I found practice essential.” A playful lilt coloured her voice as she went on, “Rewarding too.”

 

Ginny climbed out of the tub, having completed her ablutions. She wiped herself down. “It is high time for you to think about Hermione first. Who better to teach you this than a Slytherin?  Even if he is old man Snape.” She popped the P, making the sound ricochet about the chamber.

 

Hermione, shrieked in protest, scooping up a handful of water to splash Ginny, who turned to take it on her back. “Witch! He’s not that old.” She narrowed her eyes at Ginny, “He’s just hitting his prime as you well know.”

 

Eyes dancing with mischief, Ginny prodded, “And here I imagined you two falling asleep in matching armchairs before the fire, books cuddled lovingly…” Ginny had succeeded in getting a rise out of Hermione as she climbed to her feet and started to chase Ginny about after locating her wand. She’d recalled the footsure charm and cast it on herself and her friends, for as much as she wished to tickle the spitfire out of her redheaded friend, she’d no desire to have to explain to Harry why either of them had to spend New Year’s Eve in the hospital.

 

Luna watched from a corner, eyes sparkling with amusement.

 

Catching her friend, Hermione and Ginny ended up in a giggling tangle of wet limbs and damp towel, both panting for breath, shrieking as they poked and tickled, to what end beyond Ginny stopping her blasphemous statements. Sliding down to the floor side by side they found fresh towels, heated with a charm dangling in front of their noses.

 

“Oh, thank you, Luna.” Hermione’s thoughts started to reorganise themselves, and she searched for a way to tell her friends that she was happy in this, but also lost without a map.

 

Ginny wrapped herself about in the towel and helped Hermione to her feet. “So has he at least taken you on a date, somewhere other than a bookstore?”

 

Past embarrassment at that particular barb, Hermione sighed happily. “He took me to the Bodleian Library. Did you know they have this wonderful ghost there…” She paused, her breath catching as she remembered exactly what she was doing in the stacks when he came upon them. Clearing her throat, she pressed on, “Who took us to meet the curator of the magical library. It’s incredibly old, much like Hogwarts. It was fascinating.”

 

Luna looked interested, but before Hermione could expound on the wonderful manuscripts that she wanted to go back and examine, Ginny ruthlessly interrupted. “Harry mentioned that you are taking dance lessons. And that Snape looked rather pent up at the end. Fit to burst, if you know what I mean.”

 

Hermione used the excuse of grabbing her robe to turn away, marshalling her nerves. Of course Harry would have noticed something, but had he seen? She recalled her annoyance at that intrusion, as well as the well meaning intrusion later of Ronald and his wife, Moira at the restaurant. “We went to dinner, as well you know, Ginny.”

 

Sniffing delicately at the obvious jibe, Ginny retorted, “Harry was impressed with how gifted the Professor is, but I suppose with that nose and those long fingers…”

 

“Ginny!” Hermione failed to hide the naked admiration that shone on her face with a hastily assembled mask of disapproval. Luna and Ginny were both now looking at her in rapt fascination, fully expecting her to break down and tell them everything. Hermione Granger was capable of keeping her own counsel in life and death situations, but they all thought she was rubbish at keeping things from her friends. Her best friends, in particular.

 

The silence stretched on, and the level stares each witch was fixing her with made her squirm like a bug on a collector’s pin. It was uncomfortable to say the least, and she pulled her robe on and close she let out a long exhalation, willing her nerves to solidify.

 

Unable to control herself, Hermione’s lips quirked up in a goofy smile, so her friends leaned in to listen. Not certain why, Hermione spoke in hushed tones. “He is rather finely wrought and does not disappoint.” She ignored the nosy mermaid straining at the edge of her the stained glass window.

 

Luna sighed breathily. “Good for you, dear. Is his wand-work up to snuff?”

 

Hermione experienced a rare moment of confusion. Both girls were laughing, she must have had quite the look on her face.

 

“You jammy cow! Did he appreciate the beauty of your softly simmering cauldron?” A giggle escaped Ginny.

 

Hermione’s mind finally caught up with the innuendos. Luna always did hit the nail on the head, but Ginny’s brazen leer demanded some sort of reply. “I wouldn’t know.” Her voice was small as she confessed.

 

The laughter stopped immediately. “Did something go wrong, dear? Did he not have the staying power? He is probably out of practice, he lives like a priest, doesn’t he?” Ginny’s bold assumptions raised Hermione’s hackles.

 

Shaking her head vehemently Hermione refuted the point, “I tested him most sorely that night, although he deserved it. In the end he gave me an Outstanding.” She smirked, “Not bad for my first attempt, really. But I’ve not been able to reciprocate.” The smirk faded as she failed to put voice to the hard knot at the centre of her own anxiety.

 

It was Ginny’s turn to be confused. “I don’t understand.”

 

“I think I do.” Luna blinked slowly at Hermione. “When things get intense, you fall apart. Does he understand too?”

 

Hermione ducked her head, grateful to not have to spell it out baldly. “Yeah. Better than I expected.” Her eyes started to sting so she swore, “Fuck it all!” She was so tired of weeping. It was exhausting.

 

Luna gathered Hermione into a tight hug and murmured, “Then all will be well in time.”  

 

A tentative hand wiped at Hermione’s face. It was Ginny, and Hermione stole a look at her, worried as she hadn’t said anything. The redhead’s amusement was gone, as was her suspicion, and in their stead her eyes were warm and wise. She had come to a conclusion, and it was enough for her. “You are Hermione Granger, you can do anything. Believe it!”

 

The fondness in Ginny’s voice snuffed out the last embers of irritation within Hermione, who chuffed softly in response. “S’difficult to see how. But I want…” An open hand waved helplessly as she searched for the right words.

 

Luna straightened, pulling back from Hermione so she could make better eye contact. “You’ll get there. Be kind to yourself, take your time and learn everything there is to know about Hermione. I don’t think you ever saw yourself clearly, not like those who love you see you. Not only do you need to trust him, but you need to trust yourself.” Smiling shyly, Luna added, “Patience really is a virtue when it comes to love.”

 

Ginny patted Hermione’s shoulder. “And single-minded bloody stubbornness might do where patience fizzles out. You know how to do that.”

 

Equal measures of gratitude and desire for reassurance prompted Hermione to pull both friends into a hug. All three sighed in tandem, and that prompted another round of chuckling.

 

Releasing her friends, Hermione cast a quick Tempus charm and the reality of time’s unrelenting march onwards sent all three witches scurrying to get ready before their dates presented themselves.

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:
> 
> Dear Readers,
> 
> I know it has been a while since I last published anything on this story, and I do hope that you forgive me. I’ve caught the Holiday Spirit and hope to have this story finished this time around. Updates on TI remain sporadic until after the Holidays.


	16. The Peacock Phallacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Havelocked](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Havelocked/pseuds/Havelocked) for her work as a beta on this chapter, rendering it much more sensical.

 

Severus arrived a few minutes late and found Hermione's door cracked open. Shrieks and laughter inside piqued his curiosity. He knocked softly before pushing the door open to poke his head inside. 

 

A scene of absurd dimensions and delightful proportions spread out before him. Lovegood, dressed in a costume consisting mainly of violently fuschia feathers was jumping about, and Hermione was racing after her. She was wearing her Jaguar mask, but the tail was noticeably absent. 

 

“Give it back!” She skidded to a stop when her prey turned suddenly. She only missed Luna by a whisker. 

 

“Wait, I think it’s infested with grink-bugs!” Luna’s laughter didn't make for a convincing protest of worry. 

 

Hermione caught up with her friend, tackling her to the sofa. They continued to tussle, scattering pink feathers about as the witches giggled and struggled with the beleaguered tail. 

 

Severus had an idea and summoned the longest feathers silently. Clearing his throat, he brandished the plumes, “Here, kitty kitty.” 

 

Startled, the witches both squealed and Luna fell off the sofa and onto the floor with a thump in a fuschia cloud of loose feathers that fell slowly about her. 

 

Hermione sat up and somehow had gotten feathers in her lovely mouth, from which she spat, ”Patooey!” A bit of down remained stuck to the corner of her lips, like she’d tried to swallow the fwooper. She looked Severus up and down, from her kneeling position on the couch. “Wow.” 

 

Luna sat up and started to reapply feathers to the bald bits. There was a hood to the costume that covered her shoulders and head, creating the impression of a neckless bird. She let out a high-pitched trill of agreement. She still had Hermione’s tail in hand, leaving it curled over her wrist as she worked. 

 

Severus flicked the feathers enticingly in his fingers with increasing amusement.

 

Giggling, Hermione stood up and play-stalked over, red satin-gloved paws up. She watched the feathers twitch with interest, making a very good impression of a cat. All she wanted was her tail to complete the effect. 

 

Ideas popped into his mind. There was no way that Luna was getting these feathers back tonight. Using her distraction, he took a moment to admire the magical dress’ unique charm, and what she’d done to extend the leopard spots down her neck to her shoulders and arms. How low did those spots go? 

 

Enchanted silk, made to look like hot flames, rose in shimmering tongues to lick at her modest breasts. The specifics of her curves were hidden from view, although Severus thought he might just be able to see through if he looked long enough. Good lord, were there spots there too? 

 

Severus let out a deep rumbling purr of approval before he recalled that they were not alone. 

 

Spotted or no, she still blushed, and it added a lovely flush to her chest. Shy now, Hermione dropped the kitten act and wrapped her arms about her chest, a gesture that revealed even more of her cleavage. “Do you like it?” 

 

“Oh yes.” Tonight was going to be a test of his self-control. He was hard pressed as it was already. Steeling himself, especially in light of their misunderstanding earlier, he resolved to keep her to himself as much as magically possible that night. Social conventions and manners could all sod off. 

 

He was rewarded with a bright smile. It looked strange on the jaguar’s lips, but the warmth in her brown eyes was very right. 

 

She stepped to the side, and for a moment he thought she was stalking him again. “You look wonderful, Severus.” Her eyes widened, “What’s that?” Her nose twitched, like a cat scenting a mouse on the air. 

 

She’d noticed the smoke cloak’s effect, a black cloud of it trailing after his every movement. They were artistically crafted wisps of illusion, and he fancied they looked a lot like his “Patheus” from that night. He executed a tight spin to bring out the effect for her approval. The costumers explained that it wasn’t really a cloak, more of an effect created for the portrayal of a Demon King. 

 

Luna’s dreamy voice intruded before Hermione could say anything further. “Where there is smoke, there is fire.”

 

Neville, who’d arrived unnoticed in their distraction, whistled. “Damn. You two are hot!” 

 

“Likely to burn the castle down if we don’t get moving.” Hermione’s fascinated examination of his person was interrupted, and she’d turned back to Luna, offering her a hand up. “Mightn’t I have my tail back now, Luna?” 

 

Severus tucked the feathers into an inner pocket of his dress robes, turning to greet Neville. He’d meant to shake hands with the Herbology Professor but came up short when he noticed how he was dressed. 

 

Neville was wearing a white polyester jumpsuit that would have been quite in place if he were an Elvis impersonator, with a strange half-cape strapped about one shoulder like a musketeer’s. The cape was formed of yellow cording woven together into a loose net that was more suitable for fishing than fashion. Topping it all off was a dark brown plush velvet hat, worked over in a honeycomb of quilting. 

 

There was no polite way to say it. Why start trying now? “You realise that you look like a giant phallus, Longbottom?” 

 

A choking sound came from the jaguar next to him. The half-masks they both wore extended to cover the cheeks in soft fur, leaving the lips visible, and Hermione had hers pulled in as she tried valiantly not to bust out laughing.

 

Neville drew himself up in indignation, “I’ll have you know that I’m meant to be a  _ Dictyophora indusiata.” _

 

“Currently, as you well know, the  _ Dick _ -tyophora is being considered for reclassification as it is clearly not a  _ Dick _ -tyophora, but rather a proper  _ Phallus _ . Of the genus  _ Phallus _ , family  _ Phallaceae _ , and order  _ Phallales _ . Are you seeking, as an upstanding member of the Society, to lobby for support to bring the vote up prematurely? Or are you just twigging everyone’s noses with an elaborate penis-joke?” 

 

Hermione nervously interrupted, “It does look very soft. I think it will turn heads at the least.” She’d busied herself reattaching her tail and now the thing was lashing back and forth, a sign of predatory interest perhaps? She frowned at her gloved hands. 

 

“Oh.” Stammering, Neville turned a Gryffindor shade of scarlet. Between the innuendos on one hand and the compliment on the other he was in danger of having an intracranial nuclear meltdown. “Oh, bother. It seemed like an innocent enough idea.” Brow knitting in thought he said, “Well it did when Draco suggested it.” 

 

Luna sailed in for the rescue. “Don’t worry, Neville. We all know Draco’s a bigger dick than you are. Between your good looks and my fwooper impression, we’ll drive them all crazy. We’re sure to win first prize.”  She fluttered her wings, adding, “I’ll be sure to tie a blue ribbon right around you before morning.” 

 

Neville looked lost at the reference. Hermione had her knuckle in her mouth, biting it with amusement. She turned her laughing big brown eyes up to Severus, tilting her head in an unvoiced question. 

 

Severus sighed.  _ So _ transparent. “Yes, there is a costume contest; NO, we are not entering. It is intended for the Apprentices’ amusement.”  He leaned in to whisper, “Although as a Master they’ll try to task me with judging. They’ve been spoiling to saddle me with that job for ages.”

 

“What? Haven’t you done this before?” 

 

He smiled down at her, “Had no interest in attending for a few decades now. My priorities only recently shifted. There’s a contest for potions intended for frivolity. Recreational potions, if you will, which I find more interesting.” Also possibly more dangerous. 

 

Her answering smile melted his heart all over again. The fluffy spotted tail gently whipped into his sleek black one; together they intertwined. Hermione stepped closer to Severus, fitting under his arm. 

 

A rumble of pleasure rattled low in his chest, and he glanced over to Neville and Luna, who were busily rearranging feathers on her shoulders, a task that assured they were actively NOT looking at him. 

 

Chuckling Hermione whispered, “How much I have yet to learn about you, and your life.” She poked him in the side in reproach. “You should have mentioned there would be contests to win. Or judge.”  

 

If their duennas were going to be so conveniently distracted, he was not about to overlook fate’s largess. They’d need to get used to the idea sometime, right? 

 

Tipping her head up with a finger he kissed Hermione gently. He could tell that she wasn’t so sure about such a public display, and she started to pull away he pursued her, taking his time. When they broke the kiss he turned his head to her ear, where he breathed, “You’ve already won, Hermione.” 

 

She laughed throatily, “I’m one lucky witch.” She nuzzled her cheek against him. 

 

The sound of Neville’s throat being cleared brought Severus back to the present with a surge of annoyance but he managed to convert abuse to a safer snarl. Hermione’s ears flattened back in what he’d expect was a sign of embarrassment, but her eyes were still smiling brightly. 

 

Luna whispered, “I was enjoying the show. Ever see David Attenborough? He spends a lot of time studying mating rituals.” 

 

Severus thought that Hermione’s easy smile made her look very much like the cat who’d caught the canary. Or fwooper. She wasn’t embarrassed by Luna’s comment and as he picked away the last bit of pink down from the mask’s muzzle, Severus admitted that she’d captured a Snape at least. He was here purely for her entertainment, for his night would be very different for him if he was alone.

 

“Thanks.” Hermione smoothed out her skirts. “I think I’m ready to go, Severus. How are we travelling?” 

 

Remembering himself, Severus pulled out the invitation and unfolded it. “Portkey.” He looked over at Luna and Neville, “You still have yours?” 

 

“Right, I’ve got it somewhere about here.” Severus didn’t want to consider where Neville stowed the thing; there was little left to the imagination with the jumpsuit. Perhaps that wide belt was deceptively functional. He sucked in his own gut reflexively, a fleeting show of self-conscious weakness. He was  _ old _ .

 

Simultaneously, the invitations started to glow an eerie blue. “Grab on!” Severus gathered Hermione in, relishing the sensation of an armful of his witch. It was going to be a fantastic evening. 

  
  


* * *

 

The ballroom was alive with sight and sound, and it was all rather overwhelming. There were probably over 100 attendees, but Hermione’s powers of estimation were faltering. One, two, five, and many were the only numbers returned to her on consideration. Perhaps it was the champagne. 

 

Almost immediately on their arrival they’d been separated from Neville and Luna. They had a chance to drink a little and danced to two songs before Severus was approached by a young page who’d been sent to fetch him to the Master’s table for his duties to the society. He’d attempted to drag her along with him, but Hermione begged off, taking a moment for a break.  

 

The solitude of the ladies’ was restful, and just what she needed. She was washing up after a visit to the privy when a familiar voice carried to her ears as the door was opened for another witch of a similar mind. 

 

“...I will be fine, stop making a fuss! I just need a moment.” It was Olivia. Lucius. Distracted, she glided past Hermione, perhaps not recognising her in the jaguar mask. The blonde was tall, thin and took advantage of her new form by dressing in a very skimpy outfit. She was masquerading as a white peacock, with a feather cap, and an elaborate white feather bustier. The piece de resistance was an elaborate skirt that wrapped about her hips to gathered in the back as a train that approximated a furled male peacock’s tail-plumage. 

 

This last was a problem for Olivia when she tried to shut the loo door for privacy. Hermione admired the way the feathers shimmered with opalescent highlights over the snow white of the plumes. Olivia’s exposed legs, belly, and arms were perfectly shaped and without blemish.  Her hair was bound up with pins that were decorated with pearls. As she shook, cursed, and twisted, finally dragging the feathers into the stall fully, Hermione turned back to her own reflection in the mirror. 

 

Hermione had not expected to see Olivia tonight, and she wondered what she could be doing here. Perhaps Draco knew and had invited her? Torn, Hermione fussed with the fur of her face and her hair, moving her cat-ears about with interest. She’d been a cat for a fortnight as a second year. Cat-girl, really. All due to a potion which she’d brewed correctly, but then made the terrible mistake of adding the wrong hair. This mask was much better. She didn’t have fur everywhere, her eyes were her own, and she didn’t have to suffer paws for hands. 

 

Olivia stepped out of the stall, a flush later, muttering and sniffing. She had her head down as she fussed with the skirt, plucking at the feathers and folds, smoothing down the plumage which was thoroughly ruffled by the tight squeeze. 

 

“Let me help.” Hermione stepped behind the witch, smoothing out the feathers that were beyond easy reach. When she straightened up, Olivia had broken off and was staring at herself in the mirror, using a cloth to dab at her nose. 

 

Making an effort to be polite, Olivia sniffled, “Thank you. You know I never thought I could be like this. I usually have no trouble with composure, but I’ve just received the most awful news, and I…” Her face crumpled in on itself, and she quickly covered her mouth with the cloth, letting out a whimper of misery along with the tears, “I just can’t seem to calm myself.” 

 

Conjuring a chair, Hermione set it right by Olivia, and gently pulled at her elbow. “Sit. You need a moment.” The situation was alarming, to say the least. Hermione didn’t like Olivia, and was not happy with her in either incarnation for her treatment of her so-called best friend. “Shall I call your companions? You do not look well.” It was true, for the witch was sobbing as though her heart was broken. 

 

Momentarily robbed of speech, Olivia shook her head and wept into her hands. 

 

Hermione summoned a flannel from her bag and ran cold water over it, wrung it out and then placed it on the back of the witch’s neck, which did seem to help a little. What could be so terribly wrong? “Should I fetch a calming concoction? A cup of tea?”

 

“No. Thank you, you are too kind.” Olivia looked up at her. “I swear I don’t normally cry like this. I still shouldn’t have any potions without clearance. It probably wouldn’t matter anyway because the healers…” She glanced at the door before lowering her voice, “The healers say that I am going to lose my babies.” As she went on she lowered her voice further to a painful, terrified whisper, “I don’t know what to do!”

 

This wasn’t the weeping of a witch who was jilted by a lover. This was a woman who was mourning for children whom she might never know. Sorrow overrode any other disagreeable feeling that Hermione might have held against her. “Olivia, I’m so sorry. That’s awful. Is there nothing that can be done?” 

 

“I hope to speak with the Potion Mistress, Sappho Mágissa. She teaches feminine potion arts at the great University in Paris. If anyone can help me, it surely would be her.”

 

Excitement at the prospect of meeting such a well-known expert pushed Hermione’s worry out of the way for the moment. “Of course, she’s wonderful. How thrilling! She is here tonight? I can help you find her, I think. Would you mind if I tagged along, Olivia?” 

 

Olivia looked up at her, brow knitting in confusion. “Do I know you?” 

 

“Oh, of course you do. I’m Hermione Granger. Don’t worry. I know exactly who you are. Severus explained things to me.” 

 

Anger clouded Olivia’s grey eyes, already reddened with weeping. “He had no right.” 

 

“Don’t blame him for telling me. He had to explain to me why you were all over him at the dance lesson, which wouldn’t have been necessary if you were better behaved. He told me about Veronica too, all fallout of the same ridiculous plot.” Hermione offered Olivia a tight smile. “But that’s not important right now, you need to talk with Madam Mágissa. First, we’ve got to get you cleaned up. Who brought you tonight?” 

 

“Conrad managed to charm Poppy Pomfrey into giving us her invitation since she never comes to these affairs anymore. Whit stayed back, doing a spot of research in the library.” Calmer, Olivia blew her nose with a ladylike, discrete honk. 

 

Hermione considered that change of events. She wondered what Conrad was disguised as. He had a flair for the dramatic. 

 

“I imagine he’s pacing outside. He’s much more attentive than the other one.” A sour smile capped off that statement. 

 

Another pair of witches entered, and Hermione considered their next move. “I guess we had better get back out there.” 

  
  


* * *

 

Severus perused the rack of samples that he was expected to judge in the Diverting Drafts competition. The accompanying dossiers filled him with a mixture of growing fascination and horror. Horny Restorative?! Owl eye - that’d be useful - and Glow Sauce, which made the skin glow and rendered the former unnecessary. 

 

Three of the entries were worthy of George Weasley’s labs: Speech Bubbly, Corny Cordial, and Cheese Stimulant. 

 

Earlier, when he claimed his place among the Masters, he was handed his assignments along with a room key for a suite upstairs. It was reserved for his own testing in private, as one of the potions was particularly naughty. 

 

He’d need the Elixir of Eloquence to help him convince Hermione to help test the last one: Chocolate Cocktail. It could either be scintillating or ruin the rest of his night, depending on whether it lived up to its claims. The only hint given was that he should keep a freezing charm at hand. 

 

Rules for the contest stipulated that the entries had to be reversible by a standard antidote or only last five minutes or less. Any that persisted beyond four hours would be summarily disqualified. Any that caused serious harm could result in expulsion from the Society. Slim comfort for the judge.

 

His profession required unshakeable nerve and a cast-iron stomach. 

 

“Right. Now, where’d Hermione run off to?” Scanning the crowd, his lips twitched with wry amusement. “Here, kitty kitty.” 

 

* * *

 

Neville was two sheets to the wind when he ran into Draco Malfoy, in spite of it being quite early in the evening. Luna had run across a euphoria potion tasting session near the snacks. They were disturbingly effective.

 

“Longbottom!”

 

“Hullo… hic... Draco.”  Neville was flushed, and he wiped his hands on his trousers in an effort to dry off his sweaty palms before offering his schoolmate and business partner a hand. He paused when he saw the highly amused side-eye that the Malfoy was favouring him with. 

 

Taking his hand and shaking it, Draco murmured, “You know, I was joking when I suggested this particular fungus as a costume.” One corner of his mouth pulled up in an unmistakable smirk. “I’ll give you credit, you really did a fantastic job.” 

 

A fleeting instant of anger crossed Neville’s face in a creasing of the brow and an alien-looking frown. Then a spark of inspiration struck him and he started to laugh, so hard that he had to catch his breath in high pitched wheezes. 

 

“What could possibly be more amusing than you dressed as a giant phallus?” Draco’s smirk never left his face, but his shoulders had relaxed. 

 

Clutching his sides, Neville managed to spit out, “Did you tell Snape to dress as an anthropomorphised pussy?” He started to laugh again, trying to hold it in, but his breath exploded in a raspberry of Peeves’ proportions.  “Oh, ha! Jolly good joke, Draco. What I’d give to see his face when you tell...” 

 

Draco took a step back from Neville, as though he thought Snape’s wrath was going to smite Neville where he stood. “No! There isn’t anything to tell! I had nothing to do with Severus’...” He trailed off suddenly, turning away. A mixture of amusement and fear mingled on his face. “Good Godric. You weren’t kidding, Longbottom.” 

 

Wiping his eyes of the tears that were streaming down his cheeks from the force of his laughter, Neville could only silently nod agreement. 

 

“Is that Luna dressed as a giant chicken?” 

 

Shaking his head, Neville grabbed onto Draco’s shoulder and started giggling all over again, flushing enough that he was nearly the colour of Luna’s feathers by the time she made her way over. 

 

Draco looked like he wanted to say something, but turned away from Luna, rubbing at his face with his hand. 

 

“Hello, boys.” Luna strutted up in her plumage. She looked between them in affable bemusement. “What’s so funny?” 

 

Taking a number of deep breaths, Neville was able to get a few words out, pointing to himself, “ _ Dictyophora _ !” then to Snape, “Pussy.” In turn to Luna, “COCK!”

 

Hissing, Draco glanced about nervously. “Lower your voice or I’ll set a Silencio on you!” 

 

Luna smiled sunnily, “Oh yes, an excellent joke. Why didn’t I think of that myself?” She stepped closer to peer down at Neville who’d sat down on the ballroom floor, cackling. 

 

“Ha ha ha hee... “ Neville gestured for Draco to come closer, and it being the most convenient spot, he poked the Slytherin in the knee for emphasis. “Massive Wanker!” He was very careful to enunciate every syllable. 

 

A nearby Master Brewer glanced over with annoyance, and the reminder that he was in public was as bracing as a bucketful of ice water. Draco was able to smooth over his own ruffled nerves and confided to any who could hear nearby, “Just sampled the euphorics, and Longbottom’s succumbed. Excellent batch, my compliments to the brewers. Pray, excuse my friend.” 

 

Years of practice in self-discipline were all that held Draco together when he caught Snape glaring in their direction. 

  
  


**SSHG**

  
  


Try as he might, Severus kept finding Longbottom and Lovegood as he searched for Hermione. The third time that the pair broke into guffaws of incoherent mirth, Severus suggested they try the calming potions. They quieted under his glare, but it was irritating that the minute he turned his back he was fairly certain they were laughing at some joke that he wasn’t a party to. 

 

The object of his affection found him rather than the other way around. Excited, and more than a little worried, she told him she needed to talk to him about something important. 

 

Before he had a chance to say anything, she was towing him to the outskirts of the crowd by the elbow in a pressured approximation of a promenade. It came across as a forced march, and made him wonder if he was being taken to the Headmistress’ office. It was fortunate that he’d thought to stow the protected sample rack away for safekeeping earlier in his search. 

 

She slowed, stopping near the wall to cast a  _ Muffliato _ . “Olivia’s here, she needs your help.” 

 

Growling, Severus asked, “Why must that one show up now?” His tail lashed behind him and he watched his love’s ears flatten back in chagrin. 

 

“It is serious, not a joke or a prank.” She dropped her voice low, looking about to see if they were being watched. It made her even more obvious, but he’d never say so. “The Healers say that she won’t be able to carry the pregnancy past the first trimester. Her form is too unstable.” 

 

After doing some quick arithmetic in his head Severus grumbled, “That leaves us over ten weeks. Surely it can wait for one night?” He was sure his own ears were twitching with vexation. 

 

Hermione picked up his hand and rubbed her cheek on it. “I know, Severus. I don’t like this any more than you do, but she needs to meet a Potions Mistress. Mágissa is her name. Do you know her?” 

 

Tail lowering, Severus let out a long exhalation. “I do.” She was an argumentative witch, one who, if he was in the right mood, he’d enjoy a verbal duel with. He had much better things to spend his time on this evening, like the dear witch who was falling into the behavioural patterns of the feline with delightful ease. He turned his hand, cupping her soft cheek, extending his fingers to scratch at her jaw. 

 

Eyelids lowering in enjoyment, Hermione started to purr with a high toned whirr. He wouldn’t have believed his ears, except he could feel the vibrations with his hand. 

 

“I have some potions I need to test in private. Are you still interested in being my assistant? You might find some of them interesting.” His own voice was low, resonant, and he watched her struggle to resist. 

 

“Severus…” 

 

“Kitten?” 

 

Hermione flinched. “Don’t call me that.” She dropped his hand, turning away. 

 

Dismayed, Severus stepped closer to recapture her red gloved hand in his, not wanting her to walk away. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but I’m not sure I understand?” Her change in demeanor was so sudden. And she hadn’t minded “Kitty kitty” earlier. 

 

“You’ve not forgotten my polyjuice mishap in second year, have you? That endearment reminds me of that horrible time.” He saw hurt in her eyes as she turned back to answer him, her free arm wrapping about her chest.

 

Wincing, Severus remembered saying that she looked like a kitten who’d been dipped in an inkpot before getting partially transfigured into an annoying girl. “I see you quite differently now, Hermione. That time, indeed that student, was farthest from my mind. Please, forgive my playful tongue for its clumsiness.” 

 

A small smile answered his apology before she went up on tiptoe to brush her lips against his. “You’re forgiven. Especially if you can arrange for us to speak with Madam Mágissa.” 

 

Tilting his head so he could look down at Hermione, Severus resigned himself to having to solve Lucius cock-block Malfoy’s problems before he could have any peace. Cancelling the  _ Muffliato _ , he offered her his arm. Plaintive, he asked, “Do I have to talk to Olivia? Can’t we just...” 

 

Hermione looked up at him through her lashes, “It will take longer if we don’t bring her with us.” She gestured for him to come closer, and after he bent his head, she whispered in his ear, “And I thought you had some interesting potions to show me.” 

 

Her light touch on his ear sent a thrill through him and his toes curled in his shoes. Fixing Olivia’s problems became much more pressing. Unable to form words, he cleared his throat and looked about. His eyes settled on a white plumed confection who was hanging on the arm of a man dressed in black with a simple black mask and a rapier at his hip. 

 

“Sooner begun, the sooner done, Severus.” Hermione slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. 

 

Placing a possessive hand over hers, he was put in mind of a popular movie. “As you wish.”   
  


 

* * *

 

Once he agreed to help, Severus set about the business with single-minded determination. Hermione watched as he did away with pleasantries, ruthlessly cutting to the chase. 

 

He asked a succession of questions, each to the point and tailored to get specific information out of Olivia as to what already had been tried and why they didn’t simply redose him with the Weasley swinging chocolate at intervals, or extrapolate from the formulae. 

 

It happened that the components of the original formula were known teratogens, especially poisonous to the babies, and the Healers were very much against experimental potions. Begrudgingly, he voiced the conclusion that Olivia already had stated. 

 

“I will secure your introduction, although I cannot make any promises. Madam Mágissa is a challenge to persuade, but perhaps she will be sympathetic.”

 

Olivia was tense, sensible of who was walking nearby. “I would be grateful. If this were only me, you understand, but…” She sniffed, and Conrad handed her a clean handkerchief which she used to dab at her eyes, “My babies would die, Severus. You have no children of your own, but try to put yourself in my shoes. Please.” 

 

Hermione was proud of Severus. She could see his jaw clench, a sign that left her in no doubt that he was passing over a succession of cutting retorts before settling on a succinct appeal for efficiency. “Let’s get on with this. I’m not getting any younger.” 

 

Rather than distress her, Severus’ withering tone made Hermione want to kiss the snark right out of him. Kisses were definitely in order. 

 

As they crossed the floor arm in arm, followed by the Peacock and her Pirate, Hermione reflected on how comfortable she was flirting with Severus in this setting. Was it because she was getting into character, the mask itself unmasking her more basic desires? Or was it because they were in public, so she felt safe enough to be demonstrative? There were limits to what could be said and done with so many witnesses. 

 

Then again, there  _ was _ dancing. Blushing, Hermione was thankful for the camouflage that the dusting of fur over her cheeks offered. Her Jaguar could lend her the confidence she’d need, should the opportunity arise. Licking her lips, she wondered if they would play a tango tonight.

 

Why  _ wait _ to find out when she could make it happen?  
  
  


* * *

 

Severus swallowed his bitterness, focusing on the task at hand. 

 

Madam Mágissa stood surrounded by an army of Apprentices, Journeymen, and sycophants. Every single one of her vanguard was a witch, but the colourful costumes were a welcome addition to the display of intellectual wealth. 

 

In the past he’d enjoyed this particular challenge. He could succeed in getting a word with the woman where others failed consistently, for he had a knack for reading the moods of the most capricious. What he could not claim was a 100% success rate. 

 

“No matter what they say or how they say it, we must be unerringly polite. If we fail in this, Olivia will not get her interview.” Severus had slowed his steps, allowing time for Olivia and Rolle to catch up. “If you don’t have anything to say, silence is preferable.” He picked up Hermione’s gloved hand from the crook of his arm, kissed it, and then let go of her. 

 

Hermione’s ears twitched in irritated interest. “I don’t understand.” 

 

“You will see.” She wouldn’t like it very much anyway. “Can you do this, Hermione? Olivia? If not, I should go on alone.” 

 

Rolle’s laugh echoed tinnily in his ears. “You sound like a knight approaching a hungry dragon.” He patted Olivia’s shoulder. “We’ve the maiden fair right here.” 

 

“Are you suggesting that we send Olivia in alone as a sacrifice?” Hermione’s tail curved in a perfect question mark as she watched the group. In particular, two of the witches were dressed as koi, one black and the other white, and their ruffled fins swayed as they danced together. 

 

Already pale for aesthetic reasons, Severus thought Olivia might have just gone transparent in her dismay. She may be afraid, but she had the gumption to continue. “Would that be wiser? My French is reasonably good.”

 

“That will not be necessary, Olivia. They like to come down to my level.” 

 

A dry chuckle sounded at his side and Severus discovered that loyal courtiers of Madam Mágissa’s had drifted over to intercept them. “Ah, Proviseur Snape. I’d hoped that snake had done you in.” 

 

“Why Madam Linde, and deprive you of a target for your accomplished silver tongue?” 

 

“Nonetheless, I am disappointed. Lord Voldemort wasn’t widely known for his incompetence. Then again, he failed to kill an infant, and then failed to kill him on how many more occasions beyond that? By my count, it had to be at least six.” The dark skinned woman flashed white teeth, “No doubt a failure that should be attributed to the entitled arrogance that plagues your sex. A woman would have succeeded.”  

 

Next to him, Hermione’s jaw dropped. No sound came out. One ear swivelled to the side as she cocked her head, considering the witch’s smug expression. 

 

“Thankfully, good women saved us all. It was due to Harry’s mother’s gift and sacrifice that Riddle failed, and due to my associate’s kind heart that I too survived.” Severus indicated Hermione with an open hand. 

 

Eyes lighting up with bright interest the witch stepped forwards to exchange air kisses with Hermione. “I have not heard this story, but I should not be surprised. Wizards would be so lost without us, is it not so, ma chérie?” 

 

A second witch, one dressed in Roman era battle armour tailored for her thicker frame stepped over to insert herself into the conversation. “The real question is why we have put up with them as long as we have?” She had to be at least one-quarter giant, given her height.

 

“I am sure I do not know, Madam Rowan. Perhaps it is your better, kinder feminine nature?” 

 

Crossing her arms before her she frowned down at him. “What do you want, Snape? Your presence is offending my sensibilities.” She had always been rather straightforward and to the point. 

 

Smiling, Severus looked up at her. “And here I thought you prefer the company of cats to people.” 

 

“No one would mistake you for anything but a miserable, bitter cauldron of venomous swill.” 

 

Bowing at the waist he said, “I shall take that as a compliment, as you cannot deny that you prefer potions to wizards. Even the worst poisons.” 

 

“I’m contemplating poisoning you if you don’t get on with it. Two delights in one. Why haven’t I done it before?” 

 

Hermione’s nervous laugh cut in and she broke her silence, “Because it would be a waste of your time. Severus is like a weed. Poison and neglect have made him grow stronger.”  She prodded him in his tender side. He’d nearly forgotten that injury so he failed to control a flinch. 

 

“Ow.” Palms damp, Severus held up his hands in defence. “Love, I beseech you not to overstate my humble...” He didn’t have a chance to finish his plea for her to not give the ladies ideas.

 

Madam Linde watched in fascination. “What is this! The great Severus Snape is being modest?”  

 

“Unlikely.” Rowan was eying Hermione too now. “Are you going to introduce your companion to us, or are you going to continue to treat her like some brainless accessory?” 

 

“Madam Trina Rowan and Madam Alanna Linde, may I present Professor Hermione Granger.”  He turned, having the presence of mind to include, “And these are Professor Conrad Rolle and Ms Olivia Malfoy.”

 

Although she’d been quite interested in Hermione, Rowan did not move from her guarded stance to shake hands, “A pleasure for you all, no doubt.” 

 

Linde, being more demonstrative, glided over to Olivia and grasped her hands as she air-kissed her cheeks in greeting. “A Malfoy? My, you do have the family colouring and cheekbones. Are you by chance related to Draco Malfoy? He’s a member of the Society too. I expected to see him tonight.” 

 

Olivia calmly completed the exchange of kisses, smoothly answering, “Yes, but we are not close anymore. I doubt that he’d know me by sight.” 

 

Truer words were never spoken. Severus cleared his throat. “Ms Malfoy has a problem of some delicacy that she hoped to present to the superior experience of your school of study in feminine magic. I confess that it is beyond my own skill, and advised that the best chance she has is to seek out Madam Mágissa.” 

 

“And you couldn’t have written us a letter, Snape? This evening is for celebration, new beginnings…” Rowan was growling, “... not cleaning up after your messes. I should have known when you showed up that it wasn’t just a social visit. Sanctimonious pirate.” 

 

Rolle bowed, “I’m the pirate tonight, Madam. Alas, I also claim some ownership of the problem.”  He was grave. 

 

Not one to stand by quietly for long, Hermione added earnestly, “And we only just learned of the impending complications with Olivia’s pregnancy tonight, Madam. We’d come for the dancing; it was the divine agency of providence that brought all of us together.”  

 

Wincing, Severus glanced at Olivia, checking for her response when Hermione bared the secret heart of Olivia’s distress for viewing. As if on cue, Olivia’s eyes clouded over with threatened tears. 

 

“Why, you poor dear!” Linde retained possession of Olivia’s hand, stroking it. “Of course you’ve come to the right people. We’ve the best institute for witch Healers in the world, thanks to Madam Mágissa.” 

 

A single tear sparkled as it dropped onto Olivia’s pale cheek. “The healers tell me there is nothing that can be done, but I cannot accept that. I’d do anything to keep my babies.  _ Anything. _ ” 

 

The atmosphere shifted. Heads turned, conversations stopped mid-sentence. The ambient light changed to a rosy glow, and the scent of sweet almond permeated the air. Stalking towards them was a woman dressed in a white pleated robe strapped about her waist. Upon her head was an elaborate lioness headdress, above which flared a disc that was charmed to radiate warming light. She was barefoot but her bearing was regal, her flint-sharp eyes highlighted with a heavy line of kohl. Sekhmet incarnate, treacherous if angered, but possessing a wealth of knowledge for the feminine healing arts; Severus admired her choice. 

 

Hand over his heart, Severus bowed. “Mistress Mágissa. We are honoured.” 

 

“I heard that a miracle is wanted? One needed to preserve life, rather than alter or end it?”  

 

Dropping Linde’s hand, Olivia took a step closer to the witch on whom she’d pinned her hopes. “Madam Mágissa!” Inspired, perhaps from a lifetime ago’s experience of grovelling at the feet of a very different God, she went down on bended knee. As she did so a ripple of gasps and whispering spread through the little crowd. Hands held up in supplication, Olivia looked up in combined hope and terror. “Please. For my children. Help me.” 

 

Clicking her tongue, the witch bent, offering a hand up to Olivia. “Ms Malfoy. This is only a costume, you must forgive my theatrical whimsy. There is no need for such debasement, You are among your sisters.” 

 

Watching from the sidelines, Severus put an arm about Hermione’s shoulders. The witches from Mágissa’s entourage gathered around Olivia and in moments she was being carried off in the wave of support. Now it was all up to her powers of persuasion. 

 

Silently wishing Olivia good fortune, he leaned down to whisper in Hermione’s soft cat-ear. “Will you come help me judge some potions, love?” 

 

Hermione tore her eyes away from the retreating crowd to look up at him with a shy smile, not even questioning the need for her assistance.  “Of course.” 

 

Severus fished out a room key and dangled the fob in front of her before palming it once more. “My lab for the evening is better appointed than usual.”

 

“What? They’ve got labs upstairs?” 

 

“In a manner of speaking.” He smiled wolfishly. “Private labs, made to look suspiciously like a hotel suite.” 

 

Understanding bled through, and Hermione’s eyes widened a fraction. “Oh!” 

 

Worrying that he was being too bold, Severus was taken by surprise when Hermione latched onto his hand and towed him towards the lobby. The application of her own special variety of Gryffindor enthusiasm and determination was charming. 

 

She made him feel like he was 17 again. If he was lucky, he just might get to live out some of his teenage fantasies tonight. 

 

* * *

 

Conrad followed the group at a discrete distance, watching anxiously as the head witch paused to erect a barrier just after she ushered Livvy inside. A subtle wave of repulsion began to exert pressure on his magic. 

 

Other witches passed through the barrier in a shimmer of ruby sparks. One paused to smile at him. ”Hullo, Professor Rolle. Bit of a mither, eh?” It was an alumnus, one of his. 

 

”Polly Parkinson isn't it?” A fellow Hufflepuff. Kind girl from a low-income family, who went into the family business after graduation, if he remembered aright.

 

The girl hugged him enthusiastically. ”Professor, don't you worry. I'll be sure to take special care of your… wife, is she?”

 

”Call me Connie, dear. Olivia would be my wife if she would only consent.” He smiled down fondly at the witch, his memory comparing her to the waif he once plied with sweets. 

 

She had come dressed as a sunflower, her face the centre of the bloom. Her petals rippled with interest. ”Finally kicked Sir Whittington to the curb have you? He never was going to grow roots. I am happy for you.”

 

Choking on a laugh, Conrad lifted a black-gloved hand to cover his embarrassment. ”Well, he is also partly responsible for Olivia's present dilemma. We claim equal responsibility you see.”

 

Confusion filled dear Polly's eyes. ”But…”

 

Gently, Conrad took his former student’s hand. ”The three of us are in this together, my dear girl. Whit is off spending a perfectly good New Years evening researching, and I am here to escort my princess and see her safely home.” 

 

A wicked spark of humour came to life in the girl’s dark eyes. ”Ah, what a disappointment for us all. Sir Whittington dances divinely.”

 

Moved to make amends for his lover's perceived failure to entertain, Conrad bowed precisely. ”You may not know this, but I too have been known to be light on my feet. I would consider it an honour to fill the empty place on your fan if it pleases you.”

 

Returning his gesture, the witch dipped in a graceful courtesy. ”I would be delighted to take a turn with you later, sir. Now I must attend my mentor, for duty calls me to join the circle.” Eyes soft, she promised, “I shall look after your lady love, sir. Please, be at ease.”

 

”Thank you, Polly. You are a credit to the Badger.” 

 

The witch lunged in to give him another quick hug before dashing off, leaving Conrad standing alone in a room full of masked people. Severus and Hermione were nowhere to be seen.

 

Flashing a perfect smile, the Dread Pirate Conrad contrived to hold up a column nearby and settled in for a tense vigil. Speaking to the room in general he practised a neat flourish, ”Never mind me, darlings. Everything is just tickety-boo.” 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Thanks to readers like you! Comments and kudos are always appreciated. We hope you are enjoying the story. :)


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